Hired! ~10~

y’all have stuck with this for 9 chapters without ANY sex. That’s over 10,000 words, you guys!  I’m so happy that you’re reading, and commenting and loving this tale. You’re wait is about to be over…. ~n~ oh…and today is my birthday…but I’m giving you all the gift! Enjoy!

 

The room was designed to look like the interior of an old barn, all wood beams, studs, and rustic boards. Around the room were alcoves, formed by thicker beams. They weren’t private, but they were intimate, she thought. Eyeing the heavy iron rings, nails, and hooks, she licked her lips. He watched her take in the great space, feeling himself harden when that wily tongue slipped over her shapely mouth. He could see the need within her, feel her fascination with the variety of straps and chains which hung near each station. He led her to one niche, pushing her against the wall. The heat of his body settled against her ass. She wiggled against him, smiling to herself. His hand, still holding her tie-wrapped wrists, pulled them up over her head. Hanging in this particular space were a pair of heavy cuffs, hung on a length of chain. Pausing a moment, he felt her bum press hard into his groin and wiggled.

“Naughty girl,” he whispered into her hair, slapping her bum.

“Me?” she said, her voice a husky tease as she looked over her shoulder at him. “I was just warming up.”

“Indeed,” he said wryly. She had certainly warmed up parts of his anatomy. Now it was time to return the favor. He slipped each wrist into a cuff, sliding away his tie. He looped it around her throat, the ends trailing down her back.  Pressing forward, he squashed her against the roughness of the wall, centering his shaft on her buttcrack, and moved suggestively along that welcoming valley.  When she moaned, he took a step back. Time to dance, he thought.

He lifted her chin, serious now.

“Yes? Or no?”

She gazed at him a moment, looking into his eyes, then at his mouth, before returning to his eyes. Smiling slightly, her lips parted.

“Yes.”

He nodded, accepting her acquiescence.

“Safe-word?”

She’d pondered that, actually. She couldn’t use “red”…that had been her safeword with Alex, and it conjured up too many hard memories.

“Ouch?” she said at last, grinning cheekily.

“Oh, I think you’ll be saying that far to often for that to be a good choice. Besides, with that “ouch” comes the pleasure. Would you deny yourself that?”

He made a good point, damn him. It was interesting seeing the Dom-mode begin to suffuse him. There’d been flashes, to be sure, but this was way more intense. He wasn’t scary-Dom, but he was…

Something.

More primal, perhaps. Eyes sharp and keen. It was body language and a way he had of engaging visually.

“I see the wheels turning again, Ms. Bobblehead.”

“Oh, right, safe-word. Uhm…” she paused, and he wondered what was coming out of that cheeky mouth next. Her eyes were dancing.

“What about asshole?”

He grinned, shook his head.

“You’re a smartass to the core, aren’t you? No. A word you’ll remember.”

“Oh, I have no problem remembering to call you an asshole,” she said sweetly. “I already have, many times.”

“You may want to remember your position here, little girl. You’re rather…vulnerable… just now, yes?”

She thought he might smack her ass then, give her a taste of what she needed. Her mouth formed into a round () of surprise at his next move.

He reached out then, and firmly tugged down the top of her dress. Her tits popped free, bobbing back and forth as if to entice his touch. He gave a quick slap to the top of each, making her gasp. He slapped at the sides, but couldn’t get a good angle. She was too close to the wall for him to get a good swing going. Moving behind her, he tugged her hips back, forcing her to bend. Her tits swung in the air. He reached for something, she couldn’t see from the angle, but the slap of a crop against the underside of her breast was familiar, and painful. There was no sound for some minutes as he beat her tits, top, sides, bottom. When he paused, she was breathing heavily.

“Was there a word, miss?”

She shuddered a deep breath into her lungs, her tits blazing fire. For a long moment she couldn’t even remember her name let alone a word. A word. A safe-word. Right. She thought she might cum right then and there. A quick slap of the crop on her nipple made her gasp.

“Mercy!.” She yelped out the word.

“Good choice,” he said, then returned to slapping at her tits. He alternated using the crop and his hands in equal measure. She thought she would scream with the hurt, but the pleasure of it held her silent other than moans and gasps. Finally, when she thought she was going to have to cry her safe-word, he stopped. How these Tops knew the breaking point was a mystery to her.

“Good girl,” he crooned, rubbing her aching breasts, his crotch coming to rest hard against her ass. And she could feel him. Feel the rock hard jut of his cock against her rear. She was salivating at the thought of that hardness sliding between her thighs and soothing the fire he’d managed to light in her pussy.

His hands slid down her sides, then hooked into the hem of the bandage dress. Lifting it slowly, she wanted to scream ‘hurry, please, touch me’, but held onto herself. Gawd, but he was taking his time, his fingers sliding over her round belly, trailing along the curve of her hips, the tops of her thighs.

“Please,” she moaned, pressing herself back against him.

“You know,” he said conversationally,  “I think this is the most pleasant you’ve ever been to me! Even saying ‘please’. It’s very out of character, you know.”

A long moan escaped as his hands teased up her inner thigh, stopping just short of where she most needed to be touched.

“Are you becoming a greedy slut?” he asked, his tone deepening. He could smell her arousal, feel the heat in her groin. His fingers moved an inch closer. She was quivering, her ass pushing out hard against him.

“Oh, please,” she whimpered.

His hands lifted, cupping her tits and flicking the nipples with his thumbs. He was holding her hard against him, his fingers kneading the tender flesh, constantly fluttering over her erect nips.

“Be right back,” he said cheerily, and stepped away.

He could hear her groan from across the room, and he smiled broadly. She heard him approach, hope blooming.

“Oh, by the way,  could you hold this for me until I come back?”

He slid the crop handle between her thighs, lifting it tight against her pussy. She ground down on it, rubbing her clit, moaning as he snugged it close. OH gawd, so close,she thought, trying to move to the best position.

He lowered the crop to mid-thigh.

“That’s better. Don’t want you leaking all over that,” he said. And he laughed. The asshole.

“Oh, and KittyCat? Don’t drop it. You won’t want to find out what happens if you do.”

The sound of his footsteps moving away made her want to scream. She wanted to shift position, to rub herself on something, anything. But if she moved, she’d drop the crop.  And his warning had been delivered in full-on Dom voice. Which made dropping the damn thing all the more tempting. The devious bastard!

 

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

 

 

 

Hired! ~9~

He wondered, very briefly, which of them was in control at this moment. She was a mash up of shy/bubbly, bossy/submissive.

And she was being a massive cock tease.

It would be a lie to himself to not admit that she had grabbed him by the short and curlies with that one, naughty whisper,

“I’m not wearing any”

when he’d asked her to remove her panties. So much for her prim and proper act, he mused as he slid into the drivers seat.

“So, dancing?” she said, her eyes twinkling as she snigged her seatbelt into the lock.

“Oh indeed,” he replied as he buckled his own. For just a heartbeat they were facing each other. His fingers snagged her chin and he pulled her closer still, then kissed her mouth. It was firm, but brief. He felt her yielding, leaning just a bit further into his space. He shrugged mentally, then deepened the press of his mouth to hers, spearing his tongue into her mouth and tasting her.

His other hand wanted to rise, wanted to take her breast and pinch and tug it, wanted to mimic what his mouth was doing to her lips. But he broke the kiss off, and started the car.

“Dancing, coming right up,” he said.

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

It was ridiculous. His kiss had her all stirred up. She was horny, and needy, and that was on her, but that didn’t mean she needed to roll out the red carpet to her pussy just because his lips were magical.

Not magical, for geeze sake.

Not.

Just….she paused in her thinking attempting to tamp down her suddenly raging desire.  He gave a fucking damn good kiss. She could live with that. But boy, she had wanted him to yank her out of her seat, maul her tits, make her sit on his lap and ride him until they were both a messy pile of sweat and…

She broke off that thought, too. Clenching her thighs, she gave herself a stern talking-to.

You are not going to get involved here.

This guy fired you,  for fucks sake!

Okay, maybe he didn’t actually fire you, but he started it.

She rolled her eyes at herself.
“I’m beginning to see that when you go through all these head gestures, that you’re carrying on some sort of internal dialogue. Am I featured in it?”

His voice jolted her back to awareness. Where were they, anyway? She wasn’t that familiar with town, and in the darkness it was hard to say where, exactly, they were.

“What?” she said, realizing that he was awaiting her reply.

“Oh, no,” she said immediately. “No, you weren’t in the conversation.”

“I’m aware. Since I was silent and you were bobbling your head like…one of those bobble-head dolls.”

Her shoulders straightened. This, this was the thing he did that so got under her skin! He compared her to the stupidest things! She would not even dignify that with a reply, just turned a steely glare at him.

He laughed, of course.

“You’re a child,” she said.

“We’re here.”

She looked out the window. He’d driven her to the club. Her mouth opened, closed. If she said anything, he’d know that she …what she…

She could almost hear Savannah in her head saying ‘so what if he knows? why not enjoy the ride?’

Well. She breathed deeply as he exited the car, coming to her door like a gentleman. Which he wasn’t.  The door opened, and his hand appeared.

“You’re not a gentleman.”

“Sure I am. Here.”

He knew. He knew that she knew what this place was. And was warning her that this nice guy stuff ended at the door. A flush of nerves ran down her spine, fast as heat-lightning dashing across a summer sky.

In for a penny… she breathed, and took his hand.

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

They weren’t even stopped at the door. One head nod to himself and the bouncer just pressed the damn buzzer to allow them entry. When she’d come in, there’d been a barrage of questions. Which she totally understood. But the head nod, that indicated that he wasn’t just a casual visitor. He was known here. He gave her no more time to ponder; sliding his arm around her lower back, he guided her inside.

They walked into a wall of noise. Conversations pitched to be heard over a thumping beat.  He guided her to the bar, leaned over.

“Mamma,” he yelled to the woman who had counseled Kat earlier in the week.

“My prince has arrived,” she crowed, hustling down the length of the bar with a welcoming grin. “Oh, and look who you have with you. Hello again, my little friend! You’re in good hands with this one,” she winked, gesturing with a finger bedecked with a series of thin gold rings to her knuckle. “Just exactly who I would have picked for you, little one.”

“MammaLa,” Kat said, taking her hand and squeezing it. “I thought he was taking me dancing.”

“There are all kinds of dancing, yes?” Mamma laughed loudly as Kat threw a quick glance behind her shoulder.

“Mamma,” He chided. “Don’t scare her off…that’s my job.”

“I am not scared of you, not one bit,” she said, her back stiffening.

“Not yet, he said, his voice faux-foreboding.

“That’s the worst Vincent Price impression I’ve ever heard,” she said.

“You attempt to deflate my ego yet again. C’mon, let us dance.”

He tugged her arm and twirled her in a fast spin.

“But not here, I think.”

With another of those nods to yet another Watcher, they passed through a door marked PRIVATE, leaving the main bar behind. Neither saw MammaLa’s wide grin as she watched.

“There’s gonna be some fun there. Those two were tossing sparks off of each other like a summer meadow of fireflies!”

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

“You know.”

They were sitting in a corner of a large room. A room filled with a wide-ranging group of people, and a huge assortment of toys and equipment. Toys mean for pain, for pleasure.

“Of course.”

They locked gazes until a particularly loud shriek from across the room caused her to drop her eyes first. Damn him,  she thought.

“How? I mean…Alex?”

“Of course not. Do you think I listened to anything he said about you? I knew after a few very short minutes that he and you had been intimately involved, and that it didn’t end well. And here you are, a thousand plus miles from him, which speaks volumes, Katherine.”

She guessed she hadn’t thought of that, really.

“I wanted a change.”

His thumb caressed that sliver of skin between her thumb and forefinger. She hadn’t even realized he was still holding her hand. When she would have tugged it free, he would not relinquish it.

“Mine. For now. Don’t fight me. Just be, Kat. Remember, NO is always an option.”

The pause was to allow her time to say it, but she couldn’t. The groundswell of need was rushing through her, flooding her with feelings and sensations she’d thought she’d put away.

“So you came here a few days ago. I was driving in as you were driving out. You didn’t see me, but I did see you. And it clicked for me.”

“Well….” What could she possibly say to that. “I’m probably going back home.”

“Really? When you have such a great job, with a delightful boss?”

“You are not a delight.”

Now she did tug her hand free.

“You’re dictatorial, unorganized, refuse to relinquish control of anything to anyone.”

“Which is why I need you.”

“You say that now, when we’re here…” she waved her hand around the room. “I’ve done that dance before, mister, and it didn’t work so well for me.”

“It is hard to fuck the boss.”

She blinked.

“Well…when you put it that way, yes. It’s nearly impossible to have a relationship…a working relationship…and a sexual relationship with the same person.”

“I rather think that depends on the people involved. Your last lover was an asshole. As a boss? Totally an asshole. What I do here is not the same as out there in the real world. There has to be a distinction, Katherine. I can’t go around asking for you to work on your hands and knees and still run my company professionally. For all I teased you before, I simply can’t be your sexual partner at work. We’d have to turn all that off. But here? Or at home? Oh, that’s where the fun begins.”

“So, you’re saying there’s no fun at work?”

“Blowjobs under the desk? Your panties in my pocket,  fucking over my desk? Not likely! There’s always so much work that needs doing, as you may recall.”

“That’s exactly why you needed me. You need to trust me, and delegate…not just to me but to others on the staff. We’re there to help you, you jerk.”

“Did you just call your boss a jerk?”

“Mr. Jerkface Jackson, right? If the name fits…”

“You think you’re pretty clever, don’t you?”

She smirked at him. He mimicked her expression. She broke first, again, and dissolved into giggles.

“Your face,” she said between laughs. “OMG, you’re such a nutjob! I wish I didn’t like that about you.”

“You’re a smartass. I wish I didn’t like that about you.”

He rose from the table, and took her, not by the hands, but by the wrists.

“Now, my dear, I think it’s time we dance.” 

“You’re going to play all suited up like that?” she queried, in part to tamp down the mix of nerves and lust.

“No, I’m going to the men’s room to go don my leather pants and bare my chest.” He puffed out his pec’s and she giggled again.

“You are not!” she laughed.

“What, you think I can be a Dom without my skintight leather pants?” She laughed harder.

“I doubt you need to play dress up, but if it’s what you need, far be it from me to stop you.”

He tugged her hard so that she fell against him. His mouth brushed her ear as he whispered

“that is not what I need, little girl.”

His mouth moved down the column of her neck to the tender place where neck and shoulder met. His lips traced a tickley line there, making her shiver and giggle at the teasing sensation.

When his teeth closed on the damp flesh, she moaned, then squealed as the ache built. His hands had let her arms go, but they came to her shoulders, holding her close as he nipped his way back to her ear. A hand grabbed her hair, yanking her head back, and baring her throat to his mouth. Kisses and bites moved slowly across the soft flesh, around and up to her jaw, before he found her mouth again.

He took. He ravaged. He pillaged. She moaned.

When he stepped back, she stood, swaying, trying to get her bearings. The bites gave a gentle throb, matching the one that was growing between her thighs. OH, this was a bad idea, she thought, but there was no way she was stopping now.

Her hand touched her bottom lip, swollen from his savage mouth. She felt the hard nubs of her nipples, yearning for his touch. He had her, she knew it. She would be mad at him later, for certain. Her eyes followed his hands as they slipped of his suit coat, laying it carefully over the chair, as he rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, as he slipped the tie from around his neck and advanced towards her. Those hands! How she wanted them on her.

“Let me?” he asked, holding the tie out.

Without a trace of reluctance, she placed her wrists upon it. He tugged a slip knot around  them, pulled her close for a moment and kissed her nose, then led her across the floor.

 

Hired! ~4~

Nursing her rum and cola, she scanned the crowd. There were the usual suspects, she concluded. A D/s club in the middle states was largely the same, excepting that there were more masked guests back home. It wouldn’t do for Mr. Jones at the bank to be outed as a sub-puppy, after all. But here in the city where it felt like everyone was anonymous? No one wore a mask. There were leather clad folks, some very obvious Dom-types, subs in various forms of undress and bondage gear, and a few nondescript men and women. She called this latter group the “lookers”, and recognized ruefully that she was part of that group. No Dom to follow, no subsister to hang with, she was as adrift as the woman currently kneeling hopefully at the feet of a bare-chested man, who didn’t even acknowledge her presence.

She hated that.

Hated the posturing, the group of Tops who made subs feel abjectly worthless. It was one thing to be in a scene and being called a fuck hole, but to be ignored so blatantly just bugged the shit out of her, despite her personal motto of “fuck your own fuck”. Not to be all judgy about it, but it was definitely not her thing. At least now she knew which group of Doms to ignore.

“Refill, missy?” The buxom woman with a head full of amazing fine braids that fell to her waist leaned on the counter. “Or just some heads-up chat?”

“I’ll take the chat, please,” she replied with a smile.

MammaLa laid her hand over Kats, patting it gently.

“Newbie?” she asked.

“No, just new to the area. Finding my way, I guess. You think you can ignore the need, right?”

“But cha can’t, can you?” The woman shook her head slowly, back then forth. The waterfall of black, shiny braids danced with her every movement. “It’s like a hunger in the blood, girl-child. Oh, sure, you can push it down. Pretend it’s not there. But someday, when you will be most inconvenienced with it, you’ll suddenly see or hear or feel something and the horny need will rise up!”

“Yesss!”  Katherine all but moaned. She had tried to tamp it down. She’d given up her job, her apartment, her friends, her home, and run all this way to start over. To start over as a “normal” woman. Even though, deep in her core, she believed having these wanton needs was normal,  her normal,  but by societal standards? She was fucked up. And here she was, sitting in a D/s club. It appeared that denying “her normal” and trying to live by those rigid standards of propriety wasn’t going to work for her here, or anywhere. And it was most definitely inconvenient that the “do it” voice of her boss was the switch that had turned her back on.

“I’m glad you came in tonight, girl. I always love to chat with the new folks. Of course you said you weren’t new-new, but you know how I mean it.”

“I do. I just…well, truthfully, I just came out of a bad relationship. He wasn’t a good Dom, at least not to me. And I thought he was perfect…for a while. I just am afraid that once I get a taste of the pain, I’ll lose my head, you know?”

“So, you’re afraid of the fall…and afraid of what you find when you land, right? Tell me what you see here?” MammaLa gestured around the room. Her long, thick fingers were beautiful in motion, and for a passing moment Kat wished she was at least bi-sexual, just to feel those amazing digits on her body. She cleared her mind of that, then looked around the room again.

“I see all of them. Posers, and players, and wanters. I don’t see anyone I’d trust enough to touch me, at least not tonight.”

“You have a good eye on you, girl-child. Upstairs is where the serious folks are most nights. These folks are all looking for something that they haven’t found yet. Lucky for you, they haven’t looked over here to see you as fresh meat. If you come back on a weekend? Whole big group of folks. Harder to keep track of everyone, and the play-party is open to all. You might consider coming back then. But smart, girly, very smart to suss out the scene on a quieter night. You come back and see me on Saturday and we’ll see if we can hook you up for some play time, kay?”

With a last pat on her hand, MammaLa worked her way back to the far end of the bar. Kat wasn’t sure, but it felt like she’d been summarily dismissed. With a quick grin, she laid a bill on the counter under her glass, and slid off the stool. She had a lot to think about, for sure. She slipped quietly from the room, and headed out to her car.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He drove down the street to the club. It was time to put “Mr. Jackson” to bed for the night and let Master Dirk out for some much needed play time.  Stretching his back as he maneuvered his truck down the back streets, he thought back to these last two weeks and the reason why he was so taut.  A certain redhead, with big tits and a curvy bottom and the most prickly attitude had been intruding into his thoughts far too frequently.  He needed a bit of release, a bit of whip work perhaps. He’d see who was up and out tonight. Melinda was often available for single play.

A small car headed his way. He hoped it wasn’t Mel, as she was the best recipient for the whip. But the car that drew abreast of him as they passed one another in the night was not Melinda’s. He turned into the parking lot, grinning. For just a moment, the flashing neon light had illuminated her face, though he doubt she’d noticed him, looking straight ahead as she was. His ever so efficient secretary, Katherine. He’d missed her by minutes. But now he knew.

“Hot damn!” he laughed to himself, before sliding out of his car and heading into the club.

 

Porn Rant ~ Kink Your Own Kink…but…

So when a slut is deprived of stimulation from her Master, and when that slut is needy, she needs to find other ways to amuse herself. What better way, I ask, than *looking* at porn?

I started on Tumblr a bit ago (I don’t keep track of this stuff!), and reblog on occasion. But I have a few raunchy people that I follow, including several c-n-c rape blogs (are they called blogs? or just tumblrs? I dunno!) some slavery type ones, and some that are just creepy.

Last night, though I was exhausted beyond measure, and had no energy to even think about an orgasm, I nonetheless scrolled through Tumblr before turning off my light. Several posts were hot, per usual, but then there was The. One.

The one that grossed me out beyond measure.

I’m okay with D/s that does knifeplay, including cutting. I’m okay with D/s that whips to blood, and I’m okay (though squicked out immensely) with tit nailing. (Yes, it’s a thing, who knew?) I simply scroll through those quickly and shudder.

But the one with the knife, needle and “nipple-less slut” written across her tits?

No.

That crosses a line into maiming and abuse for this sub-girl. That’s where my inner feminist, who is fine with being pissed on, and face-fucked until puking and other degrading things, rears up and says “whoa there a minute, you.”

Like really…who the fuck thinks its okay to cut the nipples off a woman for fun? 

Sure, D/s can be serious. Can be deeply kinky. And yes, yeah, blah blah blah, nilla, who do you think you are criticizing a Dominant for doing whatever he wants with his slut.

Who am I?

I’m a woman. One who loves who she is, and trust her Dom to take care of her, to abuse her carefully, if you will. Sure, he’s going to hurt me. Sure, he’s going to mark me, and give me more orgasms than I think I can handle, and it will hurt and be good and I’ll ache for days afterwards.

But he would never in a million years permanently disfigure me by cutting off my nipples.

I mean, what’s the fucking point of that?!

How can it even be remotely amusing to do this to a person (no matter that she’s a slut or slave or pig or whatever name is being used)? Aren’t hurting a sluts nipples something that Dom’s/Tops like to do?

Okay, so that’s the first one, and it truly disturb(s) me. But wait, there’s more.

There’s the one that I saw last week, a whole photo array of a clit being injected. Saline? Who knows. It gets larger in every single photo until it’s huge. The next picture is of a razor blade. And the last one is of the severed clit, with the caption “you won’t be needing that any more.”

I’ll let you think about that for a moment.

I’m into kink because it makes me feel good. Because of the high, because of the endorphins, because I have this wacky wiring that makes me like to be beaten and fucked and …

that’s as far as it goes.

Yeah, I know there’s risk when you become a submissive to someone. That they can harm you. That they could kill you. I get it. I do. I was once desperate and foolish and met a man I’d only been talking to for a few months on the internet without ever really seeing his picture, or knowing him for real. No coffee dates in public, just a meeting in a room in a hotel and 9 hours of being fucked and kissed and hurt and …he became my Master.

I. Do. Not. Get. This.

Is this kink extreme? Is it abuse? Is it misogyny in the extreme?I think about those young girls in Africa who are taken out to the bush and have their clitoris removed by an elder woman because they are not allowed to enjoy sex, to have an orgasm, to feel any pleasure. I remember the need to vomit that I felt when I first heard of this genital brutality.

I can’t condone it. I can’t un-see it. I can’t understand it.

Isn’t the underlying piece of this thing we do, for all of us to feel pleasure of some kind? It’s not a game to me. It is NOT a game. Yet from my weight of years, and from 14 years of celibacy in my marriage, I cannot see that this sort of thing is anything about pleasure. Yeah, I know people give up having orgasms to please one’s Top. I get that that’s part of some peoples kink.

But to NEVER feel pleasure ever again?

Peeps.

Life is short. Shorter than you can even believe, and the days roll past so quickly. I hope that you don’t spend them all in denial of life’s greatest gift. I know I won’t. I hope I’m still having orgasms 20 years from now, and beyond…but I will never, ever, forget seeing that poor severed clit, and not feel the need to weep for that poor girl.

 

 

“Give Me…”

His finger circles my clit. I’ve come, and it’s sensitive and I’m hot and slippery and needy. Again. He laughs at my obvious need, his fingers pinching, squeezing the bulbous sex button before slipping back down my sodden slit.

A solitary finger enters me.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he growls softly into my ear.

The single finger is joined by another, then a third. Slowly he pushes into me, rubbing against my spot until I’m arching.

He pulls out, and I’m left gasping, right on the edge.

I may have called him a fucking bastard then. His hand rises to my mouth.

“Taste,” he says, “taste yourself on my fingers.”

A finger slides across my bottom lip.

“Salty,” he says, “Sweet.”

“you, girl. That’s you.”

Slowly he presses the other digits into my mouth, across my tongue, down towards my throat, almost-but-not-quite gagging me.

Just as those salty-sweet slicked fingers had caressed my cunt, so now did they fuck my mouth as my tongue swirled and flicked over them, cleaning him. He laughs, a soft chuckle of sound, then pulls them free.

“Here,” he says, turning my head with his free hand. His mouth takes mine, lips barely touching before he pulls back a fraction of space.

“Give me. Give me…” His word is a fierce yet quietly growled order.

“More,” he demands, lips against my mouth. I press my lips harder against his. Our mouths suck and take greedily from one another. I moan as he sucks my aching tongue hard, then bite his lip when he frees it.

As our mouths mate, his fingers press into my pussy and begin the dance of lust again.

 

Hurts…So Much, So Good

I am an aching, bruised mess.

My hair is mussed. Tied into tangles and knots it will take a deep conditioning to untangle. Seriously…it was soooo bad when he finally let me up off the bed, that I looked like I’d been electrocuted! Long hair scrubbed all over the damn bed makes for one powerful, somewhat terrifying case of bedhead!

My body hurts, just about everyplace you can imagine. (And I know you all have wonderful imaginations!)

He spanked me long and hard. I felt the tension ease away, even as the pain built. He spanked my ass multiple times through the day, then later near the end of playtime, my pussy.

And oh, the pussy smacking. It was brutal and hard. The harder he attacked my cunt, the closer the intense need grew. I came just from that. He called me a cunt over it, and laughed. It still surprised him that I orgasm from having my pussy beaten. And not once. Twice, my pervie peeps.

Well, actually. Uhm…(maybe he’s right and I really AM  cunt?!)

Okay, three times.

And after that third time, he pushed me down, pinning me and roughly finger fucked me to many, many more orgasms. Until I moaned at the slightest touch on my poor battered girl bits.

And then he did it again.

Now i sit, a slut filled with pain- from throbbing cunt to aching ass, from battered tits to pinched and bitten arms and shoulders. Exhausted. Used up. Made to cum too many times to count, made to scream and cry and whimper as he slapped the fuckity fuck right out of me.

Okay, he tried. I was still impudent, wildly silly, and at times, a growly beast with him. (To his utter delight!)

There are many stories to tell, but for now, this very tired, very sore slut is going to bed.

And smiling.

 

 

 

Plump~4

All worked up and nowhere to put it, she mused. Sitting in her car in the parking lot, key in the ignition, she pondered the last few minutes at the club, trying to see how he’d managed to not only totally turn her thinking around, but to totally turn her on as well, then send her on her way with all but a pat on the bum and a see-you-around-soon.

“Might as well have been ‘don’t let the screen door hit ya where the good Lord split ya!” she said aloud. Why had he shown her the door? It hadn’t been a total bum rush, but he’d not encouraged her to stay and hang out, either. Which was odd. He was attracted, he’d said so.

Hadn’t he?

Turning the key, she started her car, still trying to work her mind around the convoluted conversation. He had to have said he was attracted to her…or at the very least alluded to it. He had spoken of them becoming an item, of that she was sure.

She wasn’t sure if that pissed her off or excited her, but judging by the squirmy feeling in her pants, the scale weighed heavier on the excited way of things.

Then there was the encounter with that woman. Wow. If she was ever to swing even a little bit into the homo side of the equation? She’d likely be on her knees, begging that Domme’s  attention. Of course, she was likely used to the adoration of many, and just as likely, only chose a few. She’d met other Dommes when she was back home- she paused that thought, mentally redirecting herself. This was home now. Before was just another part of the past. Anyway, she thought, she’d rarely been so affected by someone of her own gender before. But Madame Fornea had that rarest of gifts, a true magnetism.

Turning onto the street that lead her home, she knew she’d never met anyone as immediately fascinating as Madame F. It was more than just sexual. There was that indefinable something that drew one in, made one want to be close, closer than close, to her. She listened with her whole self, and that was a gift in this day and age. She realized that Sir….Michael had that trait as well. Shifting in her seat, she noticed the wafting scent of arousal. Geeze. She couldn’t even think of him without being aroused.

“Stop. Just stop. Park the car, and go take a cold shower.”

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

She shook herself out of the daydream, and refocused on her computer monitor. She had to run the figures one last time, and she’d be done. Trying to not think about Sir Michael made him seem to float into her mind even more frequently.

He needed to stop doing that.

“Addison?”

The call through her intercom startled her. She picked up the phone, listening a moment before issuing a soft “I’ll be right there.”

Taking the folder from the corner of her desk, moving hastily she went out her door, and down the long corridor to her boss’ office. A quick knock was followed by an equally quick reply to enter.

Going over the folder contents with Ms. Silverstein, they were interrupted by her private secretary.

“A Mr. Millett is here to see you, Ms. Silverstein.”

“Yes, I was expecting him. I forgot to tell you. We squeezed this in between his meeting schedule and mine. Do send him in please Natalie,” she replied, before turning to Addison. “We’ll have to finish this later, dear. I’ll ring you when my meeting is done.”

Dismissed, Addy slipped out of the office, and bumped into the man waiting outside the door. Hands grabbed her, then ran down her arms to capture her wrists for a moment.

“Well, well, look at you, crashing into me like this. It must be fate.”

She blinked up into the smiling face of the asshat from the club. The one who’d looked at her like she was a slab of tenderloin. She pulled her hands from his, or attempted to. She knew her right wrist would be bruised from his grip.

Her eyes flashed hot.

“I’m sorry to have bumped into you. Ms. Silverstein is ready for you now.”

She tried to move past him, but he retained his grip on her wrist.

“I’ll stop by your office on my way out…to discuss things with you.”

With another hard squeeze on her wrist, he smiled at her, a predator with prey between his claws, before sliding into her boss’ office. She hurried down the hall, not wanting Natalie to ask about the little scene. Thoughts of what the hell she was going to do now bounced around her head, but she was no closer to a solution when she heard his footfalls in the corridor.

“Here she is,” she heard Natalie say, then a murmured reply. In a moment, Natalie’s heels tap-a-tapped down the hall back to her office.

Her door opened, without even the pretense of a knock. He stepped inside, his grin feral as ever.

“We seem to have a situation here,” he said, his eyes roaming her body. “You work here and I know something that I’m sure you don’t want made public.”

“I know the same thing about you–”

His head began to shake ‘no’ even as she spoke.

“Isn’t the same for men as women. You skirts have to work twice as hard in being discreet, at being a model persona. Your boss won’t want pictures of you in a corset, your tits all but bare, gracing the cover of the morning news.”

“The news doesn’t show that sort of thing…”

“Of course they don’t. They’ll put a filter over it or something, but there will be talk, and speculation and who needs that for their company profile. But I can protect you from all that. Come here.”

Her back straightened.

“No.”

“Are you so certain then, my dear, that your career can withstand this sort of humiliation and embarrassment?”

He stepped up to her desk, then reached out, snake-quick, and grabbed her left breast, pinching firmly.

“You have lovely tits. I want to hurt them. I want them. I want you. And I get what I want. I’ll wait for your answer by tomorrow noon.”

Shock had kept her immobile, though she decided not fighting would be better, like taming a bad puppy, don’t give it attention when it does a poor job. She swallowed hard, refused to look at him. The fingers slipped away from her breast, his feet moved to the door.

“I have your card. I’ll call you at noon.”

The door shut with a quiet snick behind him.

 

 

Admonished (again!)

If you’ve been reading here any amount of time you’ve likely heard me talk about “Like Day.” The evolution of the day isn’t so important just now, just the information that this is the one day that I get an Orgasm. Yup, just one lonely orgasm a week.

This past week, He didn’t have me do anything torturous the night before as he has had me do in the past. I was coming off of my cold/illness, and he was, well, feeling benevolent. Because I was out of commission most of the prior week, and playing catch-up from the weekend onward. I never got to bed Tuesday evening until 11:45 p.m. which, even for me, is ungodly late.

I should back up a bit, tell you about the Like Day rules.

  • There is only one orgasm allowed no matter how weak it is.
  • There is only Tuesday night to have the O…there is no “oh it’s midnight I’m good” on Monday, nor is there “oh, it’s midnight, I’m good on Tuesday.
  • There is only that window of time from when I go to bed Tuesday UNTIL midnight Tuesday to have my orgasm.

Knowing these long-time rules, I stared at my clock. Oh. Fuck.

fuckity fuckity fuck

How the hell am I going to get settled in bed with my toys AND get off with (now) 13 minutes left until midnight?? I wasn’t desperate for the O, since there’d been no teasing of the pussy the night before, no edging, no pain, nada. I knew I’d only get so close, and have to stop. The odds of coming before the clock struck 12? Insurmountable. Added to that, the cough medicine I take at night makes it even harder to come. Dammit! It’s a conundrum. I decide to not go for it, to text M, and lay it out for him.

That is exactly what I did, yet in the morning, judging by his response? None of this mattered.

Not to Himself. Nu-uh.

My text was very logical.  Gave him all the reasons why there was no way I could take my orgasm. It was the first thing he read in the morning, and I should have known that something would come of it. Can we just agree that sometimes I’m oblivious?

I was completely gobsmacked when I got his text while at work later that afternoon.

It said that missing my Like Day O would earn me the punishment of two half-O’s to be completed Thursday evening.

I gasped, and muttered “what????” as I reeled in my head over this. We’d been texting all day and there was not a hint of punishment. Not a whiff.

“When did THIS become a rule?” I said in my reply text.

“Just now.” He shot back.

Yet “what” that was the first thing I screeched  said when he answered the phone as I drove home later that evening.

“WHAT??” I’m not a soprano, but I’m sure my tone was far from submissive, and definitely in the upper ranges of sound.

The deep, silky smooth tone of his reply should have warned me. He’d been thinking Dom thoughts all day since he’d read my midnight text. This, oh this is a dangerous thing. And hot. Did I mention how fucking hot he is when he is in full Dom mode? It always catches me up, a surprise, not unwelcome, but still a shock when it happens.  So much of the time we’re just two friends talking on the phone. But then there are those times…and Wednesday was one of them…when he is…full-on Master, and I feel exactly as if I were standing in the room, in the corner, with Him behind me.

“Your Like Day orgasm is a gift, nilla. A gift from me, to you.”

There is a pause. I know not to speak, and he is holding me in suspense. After each sentence, there is a meaningful pause.

“When you ignore my gift, that’s a problem.”

“Problems need correction. you need correction.”

He stops. There are no more words. I’m reeling in shock. I never considered, from his point of view, how it would look for me to squander his gift, throw it back in his face, essentially, though he didn’t put it that way directly.

There is like…45 seconds of silence from my end.

“Nilla…? Hellowww? M to nilla……”

My mouth opens and closes and yet no words come out. Finally I stutter out…

“i..I….uhm……….yes…yes Sir.”

“Good,” He says. I hear the satisfaction in that word. He knows he’s got me right where I’m supposed to be, the place  I forget to be sometimes, when the vanilla life is full upon me.

I’m not the business woman then.

I’m not the mom then.

I’m his slut, his.

I remember, in a flash of intense memory in this split second, his hand grabbing my cunt, squeezing it hard, making me whine and whimper as I lay half-under him. He is looking down at me, his tawny eyes so fierce. He growls at me, his voice low and intense and hungry.

“This. Is. MY. pussy. M I N E.”

His words, his ferocity, made me shudder with joy and love and pain and the intense thrill of being wanted that much. Such an amazing memory, recalled with his one word response to my remorse.

“Good.”

His sexy, whiskey-warm voice, that one word, that “good” flashed me back to our play-time memory, of being fully claimed as His.  I’m right back in that headspace, sitting in my car, driving home from work.

Connected. Redirected.

Contrite.

And happy to be owned by such a devious, mean, and delightful M who cares enough to send the very best….and punish me when I forget it.

I am (as he often reminds me) a very lucky slut.

😀

 

Punishment update:

I had until Thursday morning, for this first infraction, to decide the punishment I must submit to. I can do the two half-o’s on Thursday and have my next Like Day O next week.Or I can forgo my next TWO Like Day O’s and have no further punishment.

I really hate half-o’s. (Conversely, they are uber hawt, too, right??)

But I really REALLY hate the thought of 3 weeks with NO O!…

Oh dear. It’s a dilemma. What would YOU choose? 

 

 

 

 

 

Tuesday, When He Pulls Out The Dom Card

I have a task. It’s fairly new, instituted at the end of January. And I was given a “pass” for  several weeks while I was really sick. But I’m not really sick anymore, in fact, nearly recovered.

I forgot the task. Oh. Fuck.

Monday night I’m supposed to have a half-O, to be edged to the point of twitching and total distraction. The idea, aside from giving Him pleasure at my needy pussy, is to make my Tuesday orgasm even more intense. So it’s a good-bad thing, you know?

But I forgot the task.

And I told Him, last night, on a night I was supposed to be enjoying my pussy to the fullest. I will have a punishment tonight (two half-O’s, the first with the small anal plug, the second with the larger one)…which I of course deserve.

But the thing that made me shake in my boots was this. His voice drops, gets silky.  It makes me hot, and wet, and horny, and scares me too. Imagine that, that just the smallest change in the tone of his voice can do that?

“Did someone forget who’s in charge here?” He says.  I think for a moment that my heart just stopped beating. And then it beats like crazy.

“Uhm…kind of? It’s been a long while and…”

Did someone forget who’s in charge here?”  He repeats.

“No. No Sir.”

My voice is small and whisper quiet. It wasn’t the 7 words. Okay it was, but it was the TONE. The Delivery. The Dom, steel wrapped in velvet, who slid through my phone and into the gut of me, reminding me.

“I won’t forget again Sir.”

“See that you don’t.”

We haven’t seen one another, face to face, in over a month. Haven’t had playtime since last Autumn. But all of that doesn’t matter. For us, it’s more than just playtime, more than just punishments and rewards. It’s about U/us…our dynamic, our connection to one another, and TTWD.

And if ever I forget that hey, we’re not just some vanilla friends sharing lives via the phone…He never fails to jerk me back to the reality of the collar (visible or not) that is around my throat.

And that I’m His.

 

 

 

Squeeze (5)

The ride home was  a blur. She wanted to ask questions, but couldn’t make the words form. His hand found her breast as they cruised through the last lingering traces of the day. The crimson sky had faded to a dusty rose; stars appeared as his fingers squeezed around her nipple. Holding onto the orgasm that threatened was as hard as holding his semen in her ass. She bore down, squeezing her bottom half. Her body pebbled with erotic goosebumps as she tried to not think about what would happen when they entered the kitchen.

As the car turned into the driveway, he looked over where she sat, staring forward, hands placed on the tops of her thighs. He bade her to sit. Her breath came in shallow, short puffs. Her body was on fire, a cauldron of lust, embarrassment, excitement, fear, and nerves.

He did not open her door, but rather, walked to the slick car that pulled up behind theirs. The two men laughed, a sound carried clearly to her hyperactive ears, despite the closed windows. Jumping at the sound of the door, though it was foolish, she looked up at him. Those eyes. Those compelling baby blues were smiling down at her, his hand extended into the vehicle.

“You go with him,” her husband said, watching her. “I’ve got some setting up to do. You can park her in the living room,” he finished, holding the door open for them.

“Good, that will give me some time to check out our little play toy. Have I your permission?”

The rest of that conversation must have been non-verbal, because she didn’t hear Sir’s reply. Then they were in the house, Sir bolting upstairs to their bedroom, and …gosh, how was she supposed to address him, anyway?

“Excuse me–”

“Yes?”

Ye gawds! How could she ever talk to him? It was like he was a magnet and she a little bit of steel shavings, tugged relentless towards him. Lowering her eyes, looking at her shoes, she spoke softly.

His finger found her chin, tilting her gaze to his.

“I am not overfond of doormats. I am certain that your Sir prefers his sub to be a bit feisty as well. Right?”

She nodded, yes.

“Then let us have no more of the ‘must stare at the Dom’s feet’ nonsense, shall we? I much prefer spunk to passivity.”

He paused, letting the electric charge of his finger tingle through her as he smiled kindly at her.

“Now, let us begin again. What is it that you wanted to ask me, slut?”

She found her voice in that assurance.

“How shall I call you? My husband is Sir…”

“You could call me Lord.”

Her eyes widened, and she was sure that her mouth opened in shock. He laughed, the sound rich with his delight.

“How about Sir K, then? My given name is Ken, so that works for me.”

“Thank you Sir K.”

Her husband’s voice came from the kitchen. Vaguely she recalled hearing him clatter back down the stairs, but Sir K had been mesmerizing her so she’d not fully attended to that.

“Bring her on back to the kitchen, Ken,” He called.

His fist gathered a large amount of hair, shocking and inflaming her. He tugged her forward, keeping her one half step behind him. Stepping into the kitchen, he pulled her forward.

“What? She’s still dressed? I’m surprised!”

“Easily rectified,” said the older man with a smile.

 

okay, it’s not the end…yet…and this is short..but it IS Friday and I DID promise…this will have to hold you for a bit, dear perv’s. ~nilla~