He Insists

So there I am, muddling along in the day-to-day of my life. I have been so busy between kid stuff, work stuff and house stuff that I’m up and running the moment my feet hit the floor every morning…so busy that I rarely eat breakfast these days, and chug my one cup of tea between the various tasks for taking care of my family (including fur-kids!). For several days I only sent a goodnight text to M…at midnight.

And then.

I did a thing.

You know how one day you just get tired of the same old, same old? Yeah, I hit that point a week ago, and I cut my hair.

Now, M loves long hair on women. I know that. And I’ve been growing my hair for 12 years (with occasional ‘big’ trims)…but it hasn’t been short-short since he’s known me. And you know,  he’s not the day-to-day Dom that manages stuff like that. He doesn’t care what I wear, doesn’t care if I wear underwear or not, it just is too much micro-managing for him. It used to bug him when I’d ask about changing my color, or getting 4″ of hair lopped off.

So I just plunked myself in the hairdressers chair and told her it was time for a makeover. My hair was lank, and damaged, and tired. My red was more trending towards orange, and I was just tired of managing all of it.

She took off somewhere near 9″ and then added lots of layers (I have super thick hair). Now it’s bouncy and vibrant, and a deep coppery red…and I love it. It barely skims my shoulders in the back!  It takes me 2 minutes to style and boy how nice to not have the chore of keeping it up. No more braids, no more ponytails…and no more headaches, either. If you have long hair that you put up in a pony or bun, then you know what I’m talking about.

While I’m sure he’s not pleased with my decision, he also understands that sometimes you need a big cut to make it nice again.

So that leads me to his text early last week, insisting that we have a play time in June. Yes. HE initiated wanting playtime. So we’re going for it, hopefully mid-month. I was stunned, and happy, and glad to know that he still wants my fat o…hrm…if I say that word, Jz will be on me again…my fat, 59 year old ass. It’s nice to be wanted, isn’t it?

“I hope you beat me good, M,” I said. “I suppose you could beat me for cutting my hair,” I continued.

“Nilla,” he says, and I can hear the voice in my head as I read his texted response, “I’m going to beat you for breathing. I don’t need an excuse to do so.”

Which just makes me laugh. It’s just so M.

Keep your fingers crossed, Peeps, that things continue to flow and we get a second playtime already, this year. When you’re only averaging 3 times a year, having another time to fuck like minks in such a short time frame is a gift of immeasurable value. And if all goes well, despite him not loving my hair, which I know he won’t, he should hopefully at least not loathe it either.

 

 

Lifted

I’ve had an amazingly difficult, emotional week. I had a physical thing that has temporarily marred me physically, and it blindsided me.

I’m vain, you see.

Yeah, I’m overweight, the short, round sub. But I’m still okay with how I look, until this past week.

I told Him he should uncollar me. That I couldn’t see him for a year until I heal.

Yeah.

First world, very vanity driven issues, nilla?

sigh.

Sometimes we just can’t get out of own way, can we?

He sent me a text within MINUTES of my sending.

Get off your fucking pity party train.

*blink*

He doesn’t care. *I* care enough for two of us, but to him? It’s a non-issue.

“Make a play date for late October, early November.”

I haven’t done that yet. I’m still feeling pretty sensitive, and though I’ve stopped the pity party tears, I am still not…not sure? I dunno. I want to be perfect for him, you know?

He just wants to beat me. The only thing *He* cares about is the color my ass will be when He’s done playing with me.

He’s pretty fucking awesome. And in that no-nonsense way of his, He has managed to quickly snap me out of the doldrums of what could have been a very serious fall into depression.

I was on the very edge of tetering into that black hole. He not only pulled me back, he threw a lasso around my neck and lifted me back. So far back that I’m starting to think about ….

…playtime.

You know…at the end of October.

Or early November.

😀

 

Need? or Want?

“Master? I really need an O!”

“Need? I think not, slut. You might *want* an o…but trust me on this….if I decide not to give you one…and odds are that I won’t…you’ll go to bed, sleep, and wake in the morning none the worse for it. If I take away your air? That’s a true need.”

Doms!

and I know this entire conversation just turns you on, doesn’t it?

*massive eye roll, huffs out a breath,  mutters imprecations quietly*

I thought so.   (i can hear the smug smile in His voice)

 

Master Picks the Tits…

I had an idea of a picture I wanted to put up today for HNT, and sent it to Master.

no, I’ll send you this weeks HNT

I blink, staring at my phone. He so rarely does that, you know? *Tells* me what I’ll blog. He may suggest, at times, an idea, or say “this is bloggable, slut” but outright *telling*?

Rare.

I like it. 🙂

So here is Master’s Pick for Half Nekkid Thursday. Enjoy!

masters hnt

 

Put in my Place

I admit it.

I was in a snit. He wasn’t available much on Tuesday. We *always* talk on Tuesday. He wasn’t available much on Wednesday. I sent my obligatory morning text…and nothing else.

Finally, in the late afternoon, I sent The Snark.

You know how it goes. When all the emotion just boils up and the pissy just rises on up? Yeah. Like that.

“If I didn’t text you all day would You even notice? Even *care*?”

I stared at the button on my phone.

Send.

Yes.

I pushed it.

It didn’t take all that long to get a response. It was not a nice “there there, slut.”

It was firm.

It was a taking to task.

It was a reminder of who HE is.

and who i am.

In a few succinct words, He not only transformed my mood (and reaffirmed, in that strange way that my brain works, that He is the Master and I am the submissive and I greatly overstepped myself).

It was not a castigation.

It was not ‘yelling’.

It was just a firm reminder.

“You are the small “s”.”

“I have the Capital Letter. I believe that puts Me in charge.”

*gulp*

Yes Sir.

I know it does.

And…I’m sorry.

We have moved well on from there, and He proceeded to tease me mercilessly through the evening. I typo’d “soothe” as “oothe”. He told me that He needed “tits to oothe Me.”

So I sent Him tit pix.

And tit pix.

And more tit pix.

He told me He was “marginally oothed”….for now.

🙂

I love that Master of mine, that in a few well-chosen words, He puts me right in my place. That He gives me both the reassurance that I needed so badly, and the reminder of which of U/us is in charge here.

I’m really glad it’s not me. I’m bitchy-but I’m not in charge. No longer adrift in the vanilla-ness my life has been of late, I’m once more reconnected, re-submissived.

I’m the small ‘s’.

He’s the big D. He calls the shots. And I’m the patient good girl waiting for Him to have some time for me. (mostly)

(hey I can dream about being that patient, good girl, right?!)

But we’re better.

I’m better.

Something about being drawn up short-leashed by His hand just sends delicious shivers down my spine. Part nerves, part remorse, part pure “mmmmmmmm”…I love when He exerts His control over me.

Nope.

We’re not really an old vanilla couple after all, and thank goodness for that! We’re just two kinky old folks looking for some time amidst all the clamour of our day-to-day to reconnect. He can do it in a heartbeat.

(Does that make me easy? And do I care if I am? Well…yes. And…no!)

So, I’m back in my place, ready and eager to serve. Even if it just means sitting here. Waiting.

(Practicing patience is very hard work, Master.)

(Just, yanno, sayin’)

😀

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Orgasm Denied!

I’ve been busy. Flat out busy. Wildly busy. I’ve not responded to comments in two days (and I’m so sorry…I *hate* doing that to you…you took the time to write to me…and I will respond, I promise), nor have I written anything new here until now. (the joys of auto-publishing!) And it is so late at night now, and I must be up early to head out for my work-away-from-home day.

But I couldn’t go to bed without just a wee “hey there”..so…hey there!

Hurricane Sandy brushed by us lightly – we were without power for 12 hours, but no damage. We got more rain the next day than during the actual “hurricane” event. Figuring that I’d lose power sooner rather than later, I took on another home renovation project which is nearing completion.

I figured out tonight why I’ve been *driving* myself to finish this. I’ve painted the room 3 times, primer and two coats of color, with a paintbrush because the roller was leaving unsatisfactory results. Painting in sections because there was no place to move all the furniture to all at once, AND decluttering the space, rearranging things and generally making a HUGE mess.

The end product is already stunning. A dark room is now pleasant and light and will help my mood during those darkest of winter months.

But why the dogged drive to get the room done in 4 days?

I can’t cum.

Well…that’s not true. I could certainly cum! The truth of the matter is that Master has put the brakes on orgasms for this week…

The first day was okay. The second day challenging. Today was hell. He didn’t even communicate with me much, which was fine, we were both busy …. but I realized that the hard hard work was exhausting me. Then I’d go out to do my evening job, and come home totally beat. Fall into bed and into sleep fast.

Work has taken the place of orgasms.

Ha. Not really. But it has helped me  get through not having them. It’s only one more day before I get to see Him, and we play…and I’ve begged Him…BEGGED Him, multiple times for an O. I’ve even admitted to Him that if He hurt me, even the tiniest bit, I’d cum.

He laughs.

“Oh, this is good.”

He doesn’t usually like when I beg.

But He sure likes knowing I’m desperate.

 

Is It Mindfuck? oooOOOh my…

Dateline: Friday

We have been texting sporadically during the day. He was teasing me and I was teasing back…

So when I got the text that said “well, better stock up on the red lipstick because you’ll be sucking cock and licking pussy on the 4th” …

*blink*

No.

Wait.

That should say *BLINK*

If only I knew how to make that font bigger, it would fill the front of your computer screen.

Oh. My. Gawd. Did I just read what I *thought* I did? I read it again. And again. Yes. It said exactly that. So I ponder that for a few minutes…and then text back.

“I thought this next time together would be just Master and nilla.”

And then I went outside to play with my kids. But when I came in and checked a while later? He’d already responded.

“Well…I guess you thought wrong, n’est pas?”

I’m feeling…fluttery. Nervous. Aware, suddenly that this isn’t a vanilla affair, but a true D/s dynamic. This could be a total mind fuck…or it could be His way of giving me a bit of warning that things will be verrah different next weekend.

This is not, by the way, on my “forbidden” list. There’s only one thing there and I’d guess most of you know what that “thing that can not be mentioned” is….and this…challenge? This…whatever you want to call it that He says will be happening…makes me nervous.

And hot.

And…yes. I’ll admit it here. This is a D/s Blog, is it not? I’m wet. Wet and throbbing with that incredible balance of nerves and …whatever it is about being a submissive that is such a turn on.

Well, that and not having had an orgasm in days and days.

The bottom line here is that I know He will be alert to my safety…he won’t let me be maimed, or injured beyond the …well, I was going to say reasonable, but sometimes after being just with HIM it seems like it’s not “reasonable” doesn’t it?!  Okay, so I won’t be injured beyond what would be appropriate  to allowing me to continue living my vanilla life normally…ie not armless, legless, titless or brain-dead, or incapacitated… or any of those type nature of extremes.

And if I trust Him implicitly ~and I do~  then I can allow the other feelings…the submissive feelings, the lust feelings, the nervous feelings…to rise up and be part of the experience that awaits me next weekend.

There was one last text from Him  Friday…after I had expressed my “nervous” state of mind to Him…

Don’t fret – she’ll be eating you at the same time.

🙂

Geebers! Now all I can say is …strap in for the ride boys n gals…coz it for sure will be a bumpy (and interesting) week ahead!

“Oops” is not in His vocabulary…

Yes.

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.

Yummy.

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.

Stopped.

I guess I was smug about it.

Ha ha ha.

I can do that, la la la la la.

Easy-peasy.

Except.

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.

Oops.

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?

Check.

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.”

Ummm…

oops?

 

 

 

Forced Orgasm Blog

🙂

That’s how someone searches for me, if not daily, then pretty often. Is it you? I don’t mind at all, you know. So don’t feel you need to out yourself here. I think it’s cute. And hot. Hawt.

You all are reading and wondering where is the story I need to write for Master, aren’t you? I have a one day reprieve. I accomplished a MAJOR milestone today in my renovation project, and I was tired. Psyched, but tired. Sometimes, in my head, I forget I’m not in my 20’s anymore. Doing big projects tires me out. Not that I’m complaining about my age…I am loving my 50’s. Just don’t have the stamina I had back in the day. So, major accomplishments come with a bucketful of tired.

And the Patriot’s are playing …or attempting to…I came to bed at half-time because I’m tired and I was stressing too much. But I know Master is glued to the screen. He may not yell much, but He gets pretty invested in the game. *I* yell a ton, and that’s not good with the kids in bed. Best for me to be up here, and talking to you guys.

So what’s up?

I got to be with Master for a bit tonight. It was something we’d planned on, not a play day, just a wee bit of face time. I was going to meet Him at the gym, but as I was driving, I had a feeling. At a stop light, I checked my phone. Yes, there was a text from Him. A “Change In Plans” text, that makes me feel all fretful, worried.

There, I didn’t even know what it was about and I was already feeling crestfallen.  Jump the gun much, nilla? uh huh.

I called Him. And immediately am relieved. He still wants to meet.

But.

I needed to go to Starbucks now, and He’d be there waiting for me. And He was. As soon as I got there, He ordered me into His car. “Change in plans” He says, and that is all. We chat about this and that as He drives.

He’s taking back roads, beautiful area where He lives. And we pull up in front of a farmstand.

An Ice Cream stand.

He’s taken me on an outing to get an ice cream cone!! He’d told me that one day He would…and this was the day. It was a chilly evening, and we stood and licked our ice creams, and looked at the cows. He has such a dirty mind. I do love that about Him. And we were talking about cows fucking (which made me laugh aisha, and Donna, regarding our prior emails about animal fucking….) (won’t people get to wondering about that, eh? LOL!), and I was just giggling. It was fun. We didn’t stay terribly long, just long enough to munch them down to nubbins, and then got in the car because we were both chilled to the marrow.

And He drove me back to my car, and we kissed, and He tickled me, the fucking brute. 🙂 I do hate being tickled. Kinda. Sorta. Okay, not by Him. But kinda. It’s confusing, and I don’t feel like pondering on that tonight.

We’re sitting in His car and I’m about to go.

“Oh, Master! You know what I really, really  want to do?”

I lean against Him and bat my eyelashes at Him. He sighs, rolls His eyes.

“What, nilla?” He says at last.

“I want to write You an orgasm report tomorrow,” I say, my voice chipper and hopeful.

He laughs.

“Clever slut. To write that report, you’d have to have an O tonight…” to which I nod and smile encouragingly.

“I know,” He says, His eyes dancing. Rut roe. “How about you write the report as IF you had the O…and don’t?”

Oh, He doesn’t like being manipulated. And I so was trying to (yes, I can admit to it!). And I laughed, and pleaded.

And then He had me tell Him my O report from last night, since He hadn’t had time to read the one I sent Him this morning. I’ve not missed sending even ONE!. Talking the report is something I have a hard time doing. I had to explain that my masturbation was short and frenetic, for two reasons. I didn’t even have time to build a proper fantasy! First, I was racing the clock. It was getting ever closer to midnight and that is the end of my opportunity to cum for that day. AND….it was lightning outside. And who whats to die with a vibe (a plug-in vibe) in their pussy? That’s the kind of stuff they put on Fox news, yanno?

So I told Him straight up. No fantasy Master, just this fucking-fucking-fucking, get that vibe going, and hanging. I had to hang and hang and hang…and I wasn’t sure I was gonna make it and there was this wicked flash of lighting and I thought, I’m gonna die doing this, and then I pictured YOU there saying “for fucks sake nilla, cum NOW” and I did.

He nods sagely.

And yes, I said it just like I typed it, one giantly long run-on sentence. And it was hard enough to get it out. Talking my masturbation is painfully hard for me.

Writing them is way easier.

“Well, tonight you’ll have plenty of time for your orgasm, slut.”

I jump in and thank Him immediately. And then wonder about the long time part.

“Because, you’ll have the small plug up your ass. Clamps on your nipples. No vibe. NO vibe, got it?”  I nod, yes. “And finger fucking. It will take you a good, long time to get there tonight nilla. Fingerfuck.”

I sigh.

Truly, fingerfucking is not fun for me. I have short arms. It’s difficult. And frustrating.  Forced orgasm? Forced fingerfucking. Forced to do it HIS way.  And it takes for-fucking-ever to cum.

He knows.

He just likes it that way.

 

 

Master & nilla & the giggles

Dateline: Monday night

Master and I often talk on Monday evenings as He drives home from a late meeting. And tonight, can you guess what He wanted to talk about?

Well?

Can you?

If you said “the nipple incident” that I wrote about yesterday, you would be correctamundo (to use His vernacular!)

Yes, He opened the conversation with “You…grabbed my nipple. I still cannot believe the audacity…”

And there ensued a long, long period of time of me, giggling my ass off. I heard Him laugh once, quickly muffled, as He extolled the “violation of His Personage”…

And He asked how my bruises were. Yes, I said, they hurt. And they are very black and blue. And I thanked Him, because we both know I love the pain…

And then He started talking about our upcoming meet. But in a second, He interrupted Himself…

hang on now, *mumble mumble*, turning left here, okay..Okay nilla…

And I break into His muttering with an incredulous “Where *are* You, Master?”

On my way home from work, of course.

“Don’t you drive home every day from there?”

There was a pause. Just a moment, but He’s quick, my Master. Verrah quick.

Wait. Wait a second…are you…being a wiseass?

I’m giggling wildly now.

Aren’t you in enough trouble already? What are you thinking slut? Are you drinking?

I’m laughing so hard now I can barely breath. OMG, I’m holding my belly and laughing at the tone in His voice. He knows I rarely drink, so that made the giggles worse.

I just don’t understand why you do this to yourself. You know there will be payment, don’t you? *He pauses as I gasp out a giggle-filled ‘yes Sir’…* Hmmmmm,

He mutters. Then starts to talk about my most *hated* toy (and His eternal favorite)…the dreaded pink hairbrush. OMG how I hate and revile this “toy”. He loves it for two reasons:  one, the totally (stupid) innocent way that I showed it to Him a year ago, being so happy to have found a tool that will detangle my hair efficiently after a play date…and His instant “stealing” of it as “His”.  I must keep it  in my care. I must use it daily. I can’t help but think of Him nailing me with the fucking thing.

That thing packs one *hell* of a whap. And that’s the second thing He likes about it. He can both hear and feel the sound of it breaking flesh. Yes, that’s what it feels like. Breaking flesh. Oh. Gross. And it takes my breath away when He uses it. One hard swat will make all the air go out of my lungs and not seem all that important to go back in…and He LOVES the sound of the thud as it hits my ass.

He spent several lovely minutes explaining that the brush will be a key player on our play-day.

Oh joy.

Suddenly…I’m not quite so giggly anymore.

I’m pondering as to whether the fucking brush is “flushable”…you know…like a tampon?

Then again if He gets here and there is no hairbrush? That would be even worse. And that’s pretty hard to imagine.

And I can imagine pretty danged good.

Okay.

Fucking hairbrush can stay. But I’m gonna be watching it out of the corner of my eye all week, and if it decides to run away from home?

I’m not gonna stop it.

Just sayin’….

😉

 

yes, i know what today is. it seemed better to me to spend this day making you all smile a wee bit. it is a day of remembering, and a day of deeply mixed blessings for me. it is a day of sadness, mourning, and remembering that we must move forward and live our lives…in doing so we give validity to those who died, and those who continue to die in this war with no apparent end. Love, nilla