Vanilla Suckage

I love the word suckage…it evokes thoughts of cocks, and gagging on them, on the taste of His cum, on the feeling of submission I get when I kneel at his feet, sucking on Him.

This is not that kind of suckage, however.

No, this is a brief “AAARRGH” as my vanilla life has sucked so much of the wanton out of me. Sometimes, it’s really, really hard to remember that I AM a slut. That I AM a lover of pain, and powerless orgasms. That I need my well to be filled, even as he drains me. I need to be renewed as His slut, and I need it soon.

We were supposed to meet earlier this month for playtime, but being ill, then several serious snowstorms all put the end to those plans. (He actually lost power for close to a week, though we did not. He got lots of wind, we got lots of snow. It sucked for both of us…again, not the good kind of suckage!)

Now we’re hoping that we can work out the time to be together in April. Easter, and birthdays, and life will try to muck things up, but if we both stay healthy, we might, maybe, possibly be able to eke out some time together for Him to beat me. (Just re-reading that makes me smile. Seriously, are we pain sluts fucked up or what?)

As much as I need to be beaten and fucked brainless, He needs to beat, to fuck, as well. Sometimes I forget that Dominants need that release every bit as much as we submissives do. Maybe it’s because they’re all quiet and stalwart about it, and can compartmentalize it better than subs can? I dunno, that’s my personal theory, anyway.

So, I’ll be writing off my frustrations tomorrow….my day off –at LAST;  last week my “day off”  got suborned and I’ve really been feeling the need for some down time, because as much as you all have been wanting to read chapters, I’ve been dying to write them!

I’m not slipping off quietly into that vanilla night. Nope, I’m grabbing my submission and pulling it up from my toes where it’s been tamped down and making those plans and more importanly, keeping them. As He said to me this morning,

you are mostly a pain slut who hasn’t had any selective pain in quite some time.

So true.

Painfully needy for pain…how’s that for an oxymoron?


Short, but Sweet

Monday night here–and you’re up eating Tuesday breakfast, I’ll bet. Oh, huge assumption there….when I actually have a global readership. Sorry. Well, it’s Tuesday morning *somewhere* after this publishes. 🙂

Master and nilla had a brief but oh-so-wonderful face time on Sunday. I craved Him. And you know…no–wait–you don’t know.

I had 4 days of half-orgasms.

In a row.

And NO orgasm for 13 days (I’ll get one tonight). I was (and kind of am though i’m getting used to it now) SUPER horny when we met. Touching Him, kissing His bearded face…all made me even more squirmy.

And I was…twitchy. Couldn’t sit still. Jiggling my leg. Tapping my fingers, rubbing my legs through my jeans, shifting in my seat. Days n days without orgasms and being kept in a near-constant state of “turned on” will do that to a needy gal.

I was a very needy gal.

I AM a very needy slut.

Tonight–in mere minutes after setting this to post on Tuesday in the midnight hours of the Northeast–I’ll be ‘pounding the pussy’ and having a ginormous orgasm.

Or falling asleep.



No fucking way.

I’m soooooo horny. Did I mention that up there? I am sure I did.

So, we’re standing at the counter at our newest coffee shop, and He comes up behind me. I lean my head back against His shoulder, just SO happy to be with Him…

My hair cascades between us, and creates a perfect shield. His hand slips up under my arm and He pinches the tender bit of skin just in front of my armpit, that tender bit right underneath there?


That hurt. And I stood there with suddenly erect posture, trying to look ‘normal’. Trying to look like the fucker was tickling me instead of pinching the fuck out of my under arm area.

And then He does tickle me.

So I’m giggly and trying to not moan…coz it fucking hurts.

So fucking good, that pain.

I wrote to Him later, when I told Him about the “bonus” half-O that I did to please Him (He said I was stupid, then laughed. I think that meant He enjoyed the idea of my self-torturing myself to please Him when He didn’t call for it…)…and confessed that I was )*( that close to cumming when He pinched me the third time. It was bitingly intense, a sharp hard hurt…and I felt my pussy clench and lurch…and was right there on the edge, throbbing clit and all.

I’m not sure how I managed to hold that orgasm back. But I didn’t volunteer for a half-o last night…I think we both knew that there’d be a major “oops” if I’d tried that one.

And the best part? Tonight (yes, your tonight, Tuesday)…I’ll get *another* orgasm…and if the Sox OR Bruins win Wednesday, I could get ANOTHER one.

I’m a lucky (bruised and horny) slut.



Tugged Into the Dark Side

I’ve said it before…we fall into a state of “normalcy” –or I do– in texts, even in our brief face times. Such was the case on Saturday evening when we hung at Starbucks for a few minutes before I had to continue my errands for my gathering the next day. We talk and flirt, and He…well…He gets this “face thing”…His eyes sharpen, His mouth smiles…and the Dom is just *there*. He’d say that “the Dom” is always there…and it’s truly part and parcel of who He is. But sometimes we slip into vanilla and …I dunno. I forget? Because I always shiver a bit with joy/nerves when the Dom face appears.

He tickles me as I buckle myself into my car, pinching and bruising me in a non-visible spot…my underarm. Yes. I have a quarter-sized bruise in my armpit! The things He can do. And of course I’m so wet by the time I get home, I’m glad I have dark jeans on.

And then there was today. Monday. A less-busy day, my week is easing up…and I send a pleading text for an O for tonight.

“No, you need to rest up–you’ll get your O…tomorrow. Wouldn’t want to take away the thrill of that O by giving you one tonight.”

I sent something smart-assed back.  Something to the effect of “oh, that wouldn’t take away the appeal of Tuesday’s O, it would *enhance* it.”

His text reply is *immediate*…a rare thing.

“Not for Me it won’t. And don’t forget, little girl, it’s all about ME.”

*swallows hard*

Just *writing* that makes me shiver. Makes me wet. Turns me the fuck on. It IS all about Him. He’s the Dom today, tomorrow, yesterday. He calls the shots.

And He damn well knows that throwing those sort of remarks at me are incendiary, turning me inside out with wanton need. He does it on PURPOSE, knowing that I get excited about the denial…even though I really WANT an O, crave an O…the fact that He controls it all is thrilling and exciting.

Which isn’t to say that if He gave me a week of O’s that I wouldn’t be thrilled too, don’t get me wrong here…I LOVE orgasms. But that quirky twist inside of me that gets so stirred up by Him, then gets denied by Him–well, it’s part of what makes me, me….a damned horny submissive, who will obey (again) her Master’s wishes…no O…and doubly turned on because of it.   And He’s done it again, you see. One little text, pulling me back to the dark side, reminding me that while we may talk of ‘normal’ things…that neither of us is really vanilla…it’s a dollop in our make up, really. The darkness is more than just swirled in me now; I’m an addict and He is my drug.

(and OMG Tuesday is a full fucking moon. Watch for explosions in the northeast, for the moon and sun to change orbital paths, and earth to tilt a little more to the east….)


Vulnerability and Neediness

So there I was, camping in Maine.

Missing my Master so bad it was a taste in my mouth. That copper tang you get from sucking a penny. Or blood. It …was unpleasant.

I needed Him.

I finally get a moment, late in the evening, full dark, to take the dog for his last walk of the night, and call Him. Except…He’s not answering His phone.

I get back to the camper. Go to my bed. Send a text. Get up and go to the restroom. Send another text.

By the time I’d gone to sleep I think I’d sent 6 or 7 texts, just reaching out. I hadn’t heard a peep from Him for HOURS and I was worried.

And, um…needy.

And I think…I’m a fucking strong, capable woman. I have my shit (mostly) together. Why the fuck do I fall apart when I don’t hear from Him?

I sent an apology (my last text) telling Him I’d be better the next day. And mostly, I was. But I felt this…vulnerability.

Like my skin had become translucent.

Like EVERYONE could see through me.

FAKE! You’re so FAKE. Pretending to have it all together, and inside you’re whimpering like a little girl needing her parent.

It feels almost like that. My security blanket is gone and all I can do is stand there and suck it up. But I feel mad, too, that I feel that way.

It’s easier, perhaps, to feel that need when I am closer to home. To feel it, and accept it. When I know that there is a chance we’ll connect. When things are “normal” in their day-to-day routine. It seems like…. I hold onto hope better. It shouldn’t make a difference. Logically? Still connected by phone, by text…it should not have made one whit of difference.

But it did.

Turns out that He has a life outside of “U/us”….who knew?! Okay being facetious there….I *know* He has a life. I know He usually has obligations on this holiday weekend to attend to. As did I. And I had fun. And He had fun. Yet…there was always the feeling that something was missing.

It was Him, of course.


He never said word one about my apology. I don’t know if that means He didn’t think I needed one, or that it was accepted and forgotten.  Or if that means He’ll bring it up when we’re physically together. As in…”now, nilla, what the fuck was all that about while you were away?”

He does things like that. And that sort of thing, while embarrassing, and a bit humbling, is also (in its strange, D/s way) reassuring. He understands that I’m needy. He understands, and frankly, likes, that my need for Him makes me vulnerable.

I’m the small “s” here, after all…and being in relationship with a big S…hell, it’s all about being vulnerable, isn’t it?