Gym ~8~

She didn’t have a clue what she was getting into. She was nervous, but titillated too. She grinned to herself. What a wonderfully appropriate word that was! Tit-illated.


“What what?”

“You just started grinning.” Dane paused before pushing her roughly against the far wall. “Trust me, you won’t be grinning when I’m done here. You’ll be moaning. You’ll hurt. You’ll be exhausted because I’m going to make you cum a million times.”

“I was thinking,” she said, pausing to swallow the nerves suddenly bubbling under her skin, “about the perfect word for how I’m feeling.”

“And what word would that be? Scared? No. Terrified?”


Reaching for a set of ties, he paused, looked over his shoulder at her, standing there grinning at him. She was a sturdy thing. He could read the nerves, but also the fire. Her cheeks were still flushed from her laughing fit, but her nipples were hard rocks poking out the front of her shirt.

“Perfect word,” he agreed. “Take off your shirt and bra and let me see your tit-illations.”

She rolled her eyes.

“That’s an abuse of good English,” she said.



He paused a moment to let the staccato order, delivered in his no-nonsense tone, sink in.

“And that’s not the only abuse that will be happening here.”

Her fingers fumbled at the buttons on her blouse. He looked at her. Just pinned her, staring inside her, it felt like. Never had anyone ever looked into her in quite that way before.

“You need a safeword. It should be something–“

“I know what a safeword is. I read that 50…”

“Do not interrupt when your Dom is speaking, little girl. That book was only a toe-dabble into what really happens in a Domination-submission relationship.”

Shamed, she nodded silently, dropping her eyes, looking at the floor. Silly to think that she knew anything at all about this. His finger raised her chin, he saw the regret.

“You are learning. I will be…” he paused, studied her for a long moment. “careful,” he said. “I will hurt you. You will cry. You will moan. We will discover -together- if pain is what excites you. It doesn’t for everyone. Also, not all kinds of pain speak to all people who are painsluts. My promise is to deliver what we both need, while keeping you on the edge. I will always stop what I’m doing immediately if you use your safeword. It should be something simple, something easily remembered even during duress. Your safeword should not be “yes” or “no”…or even “stop”, because there will be times when you say those words and will not mean it. It can be a color. It can be fucking tulip for all I care. Pick one. And remember it.”

Amused, she couldn’t stop her sudden grin.

“Fucking tulip? How about RED? That’s easy to remember.”

“Red it is. Now get that fucking shirt off or I’ll rip it off for you.”

The implied violence, spoken in a calm tone made the grin fall away and her pussy tremble.

“Okay,” she said.

“Yes, Sir.” He said firmly.

Deep blue eyes flashed to his face. It was sternly set, but she could see he wasn’t mad. Rather, there was a deep intensity there. Those rich toffee eyes bore into hers. She was reminded of a hawk, watching its helpless prey before devouring it. Energy seemed to crackle from him, infecting her. Resisting the urge to bite her lip -how she’d hated that in that damned book, but how she felt the need to do it– she gave a soft nod.


“Good girl.”

He turned away to the wall, turned back. Silver scissors flashed in his hand before he grabbed her bra, tugging her forward.

“Next time, undress faster.”

In seconds, he’d cut her bra between her breasts, the tip of the scissors lightly scratching her soft skin, then the two straps. Tugging the shredded garment from her, he tossed it to the floor. Her mouth opened, closed. She rubbed at the tiny red welt.


His finger lay on her lips.


Grabbing her by the nipple, he pulled her to the wall, then pushed her back to it.

“Hands up. Quickly now, girl. I haven’t got all day.”

Expertly he tied her hands over her head. A subtle tug revealed that she really could not move them down. A shiver ran through her as she realized that she was helpless.

And she doubted that she’d ever been more turned on in her life. When his hands reached around her, his face inches from her, and unzipped her skirt, her breath hitched. In moments her skirt lay in a puddle at her feet before he kicked it away. Taking the scissors in one hand, his other fisted in her panties. Roughly he pulled them snug, until the fabric sandwiched into her slit, pulled taut against her agitated clitoris.

She moaned then. Rose to her toes to avoid the tug. He continued to lift, rubbing it deeply into her crotch. When her eyes drifted shut, her pretty mouth parted, he slipped the scissors against her skin, letting her feel the threat of cold metal.

“This is what a rapist might do to you,” he murmured. “Scare your pussy with your panties, scare your brain with the threat of cutting flesh.”

She moaned again, eyes bright on his face, trying to read through his shield of neutrality. But his eyes, gleaming, showed her the beast laying inside, and she shivered. A quick snip released the crotch, another released the side seam of her panties. Sharply pulling the fabric from her, he tossed the shredded cotton away. Still holding her eyes with his, he drew a pattern from the top of her slit, up her torso, around her swollen nipples. Drawing in a sharp, panic breath, she watched, helpless to move as he pinned her with his eyes, the open scissors slipping around and around her exposed flesh. With a quick twist of his wrist, he turned and hung the scissors on the nearby peg.

He moved away from her then, leaving her body humming. She didn’t know what she wanted. But that was a lie, wasn’t it? Because she was -there came that word again- titillated by what he was doing to her, to how he played with her body, her mind.

A cool breeze wafted through as the a/c unit clicked on. Her nipples rose impossibly higher, thick nubs of flesh. She’d always been mildly embarrassed about the size of her nips.

He came to stand in front of her.

“These are baby–newbie–clamps. What I put on you yesterday were for more experienced subs.”

Was that only yesterday? she mused. Hadn’t things…hadn’t she..changed so much in so short a time?

“It hurt. A LOT.”

“I know. I’ll bet your nipple is still quite sensitive, yes?”

She nodded. He smiled, the devils grin flaring white hot heat.

“Oh, goodie,” he said, and snapped the clamp on it.

Gym 6

it‘s been a bit since I last worked on this. You can scroll back to reread, or use this link here to refresh your memory! ~nilla~

She had to be dreaming. This wasn’t really happening to her- not to boring, mundane Ellie, was it?

Wet underpants between her legs informed of the reality. Dammit, she’d just cum! In her work clothes. In her boss’s office. She stood frozen, transfixed by a man whose fingers were firmly pinching her nipple. The same man who had tormented the same nipple yesterday. Who had tied her up physically, and certainly, mentally.

“Ohmygawd,” she moaned, suddenly remembering that she was not alone with this pervert. Turning her head she saw Daniel sitting with a stupid smile on his fucking handsome face. That black mane of hair had fallen over his forehead, but for once he wasn’t running his hands through it. Rather, he was holding a pen with two hands, stroking it lightly as he watched the scene playing out before him. In his own office. She watched his fingers moving up and down the smooth surface of the pen, and she knew without a doubt that the action was a poor substitute for stroking something very different.

Look away, she told herself. She was not going to think about her bosses cock. It was enough to think about the long, strong fingers that had captured her breast, her overly sensitive nipple. She pulled her gaze from Daniel, focusing on the tall, shapely form standing in front of her, her eyes slipping down the firm chest, to strong, denim clad legs. The dark sneakers he wore reminded her of her earlier gaffe. She was not going to think about HIS big feet, and maybe big…no!

Holy shit, Daniel had watched her shudder through an orgasm–standing right there in his office, for fucks sake!–while her nipple was touched! More than touched. Tortured. It was then that she realized Mr. Perv was still holding it.

“Stop!” she gasped, pushing him away with both hands on his chest. He didn’t move an inch, but his hand released her aching bud. She felt her face turn red, her body flush with heat, felt the thick throb in her nipple, the matching beat in her clit. Both were keeping time with her racing heart. The ache to be fucked had returned, ten times as intense as it had been yesterday when he had tied her up.

The chair squeaked as Daniel moved. She couldn’t bear to look at him.

“Perhaps it’s time for a more formal introduction.”

Dropping the pen, Daniel rose smoothly from behind his desk, moving to stand beside the pair locked in seeming stasis as they stared at one another.

“Ellie, I’d like to introduce you to Dane, my business partner, who is also know as Sir, or Dom in the playroom.”

“Dane, this is our secretary, Ellie Diamond.”

He paused for a moment, looking at each of them.

“Although you have already met one another on a whole other level, and I can see that there’s still a great deal to be sorted out, I’d like you both to take a step back and sit, while we work things out here.”

His words hung in the air between the three of them.

“Fuck that,” Dane spoke in a near growl, before hooking his arm around Ellie.

“Come,” he said.

Daniel watched as Dane pulled an unresisting Ellie out of the office, and into the playroom. Damn if things weren’t about to become very interesting, and a whole lot more complicated, he thought.

A Case of Nasty

“I know, slut…your clit is getting all swollen isn’t it?”

Whimpers answer, ball gag firmly behind teeth prohibiting clear speech. The writhing form on the bed is held open by the ropes around wrists and ankles. The persistent hum comes from the juncture of thighs. The scent of warm cunt fills the air over the bed. Deep male laughter echos in the room that is dimly lit, and empty but for the old metal-framed bed, not much more than a mattress really, and a single wooden chair. His coat is hung on the door knob. Her clothing is folded in a neat pile in the corner.

Her body humps the tool, then attempts to skitter away when He plays with the intensity. The vibrator ratchets up to “high”, then down to “low” with no rhyme or reason other than His desire to torment her.

“Poor little slut wants to  cum, don’t you?”

Her head nods violently ‘yes’.

He pulls the vibe away, watching her hips rise seeking that little edge that would have gotten her off. The chuckle comes again. Her body sways, searching for the humming device, her tits bobble. Setting aside the vibe, He grabs the nearest tit, pinching the tip hard. His eyes watch as the skin crinkles, as the miracle of the nipple rises from the flat disk of her areola.  Waiting, watching, she feels His breath on her skin. When the bead of her tit is full, His fingers pinch it, rolling it between His fingers. His lips encircle it, sucking hard.

Her hips rise; nipple play always makes her cum, if He does it long enough.

With a loud


His lips release her. Quickly He fastens a clothes pin to the tender bit. Her teeth bite down on the rubber ball in her mouth, eyes clench closed at the sudden shock of pain, yet her clit continues to throb. His voice breaks through the hum of the vibe which is rattling against the floor, discarded for now as He play roughly with her tits.

“Peter–you know Peter–?”

She nods. Knows him, loathes him.

“He wanted me to go out for a beer with him tonight. But I told him I had a date with you.”

He laughed roughly, recalling his friend’s face at the news.

“He told me I was a lucky son-of-a-bitch, having a ‘girlfriend’ with big, fat, juicy, knockers. I almost told him then, slut. You aren’t my ‘girlfriend’, but my fuck-meat. My slut-toy. My goodness, can you imagine that? He’d blow a load in his jeans hearing that wouldn’t he?”

Goose bumps rose against her flesh, her aching nipple squeezed tight within the jaws of the wooden peg hurting just a bit more as a shiver ran up her spine.

“He said he’d buy me a beer someday if I let him suck your titties.”

There was a pause as he picked up the vibe. The hum came close, then pressed against the side of her tit. The wooden peg shook on it’s fat mount, making her cringe. Her clit throbbed at the sudden surge of pain, pleasure mixed with the heady darkness she craved. Before she could cum, the vibe moved away, lower.

His voice came again, low and husky.

“I told him okay. For a beer he could suck your titties.”

She stiffened with shock, but the vibe pressing against her clit drew a deep moan from her throat. His words flowed over her.

“Then I told him, hell, for a bottle of Jamison’s I’d let him slide his stiffy into your fuck-hole. You should have seen his face, slut.”

The vibe slid away from her cunt again. Her hips humped the air, seeing the edge, seeking release. Her fingers opened, then closed into tight fists. A steady moan came from her mouth, sounding splooshy as drool pooled behind the gag.

“His eyes grew huge. And then I said,” Her Master’s voice took on that wicked edge that turned her on, and made her nervous. The vibe flicked on to high, and pressed hard against the swollen center of her sex. “….For two bottles, you could chose her cunt OR her mouth…and if you threw in the beers, you could suck or slap those fat titties you keep oogling.”

His laugh barked out. She was beyond caring, her body beginning to convulse from the intense pressure on her pussy. He pulled the vibe away, holding it just above her cunt. His words pulled her from the edge of the orgasmic abyss.

“His eyes almost popped out of his head, slut, and I almost laughed…I could see him picturing the scene, and having to choose between shoving his cock up your snatch and pouring his juice into your belly, or sliding between your bright red lips, and shooting his babyseeds into your tummy.”

The vibe returned to torture the vee of her pussy. She was close…so close to cumming. Wiggling to get better position, she could feel herself poised on the edge, when he moved the fucking vibe again.

Her tit shook as he pressed the thing against the meat of her breast. The clothes pin jittered and shook and she moaned at the pain and pleasure of it. She hated when he did this, torturing her pussy and her tit. Shamefully, she also adored it.

“When I got home,” he continued, moving the vibe again, pressing it hard against her clit, “there was an entire case of Jamison’s on the front porch. And two beers.”

She came hard when the doorbell chimed.

The Sadist Came to Lunch

He is waiting at the simple restaurant we favor on these playdates. I was so hungry, having been unable to choke breakfast through the lump of anticipation in my throat.  I was hot, horny, wanton.

That first glimpse of Him as I enter the warmth of the room catches me–not breathless, exactly–I’m not a teenager chomping at the bit to see my boyfriend. It’s darker, and so much deeper than that. Not just my cunt is involved here. It’s my mind, my body, my spirit…and all react to seeing Him sitting there. He’s chosen a chair next to the fireplace, a soothing balm –it is incredibly frigid outside. I look at Him, smiling to myself. He’s reading the paper, immersed in it, as deeply as I am immersed in taking in this relaxed view of my Man. The nerves I’ve carried all week begin to fall away, every step making me feel lighter, freer, happier. Just seeing Him sitting there, knowing He was there for me. 

There’s incredible power in that, for both of us, I think.

I come closer and He sees me, smiles that little wisp of a smile that makes my stomach just clench in delight. It is the smile of the Master, the control of the Sadist. He is happy to see me, and for this one flash of a moment, allows me to see that pleasure.

He teases me about something, I forget now. I kiss Him lightly on His mouth, and as I lean down, I feel His fingers pinching my tit. I’m hot, and it’s not from the cheery fire burning a few feet away, but from the flames He instantly kindles in me.

We chit-chat for a bit, then pick a table. Will I have the bagel I always do? I decide, after some debate between us, to have a light lunch. Too much food and I’ll pay for it during play time. Too little and I might faint. I chose soup and asandwich, and ate while we talked. Well, He talked, I mostly listened.

I have no ide


a, no memory of what we spoke of. Mostly the mundane, I think. I was watching those leonine eyes of His, glinting hues of amber and banked fire. His face is compelling, and I watch it avidly, drinking Him with my gaze.

I am rising as we prepare to go to our room. His voice stops me as effectively as a hand on my arm.

“When you go to change? Clamps on immediately.”

I feel heat, in my face, between my thighs, and a tingle in my breast as my nipples rise in anticipation.

And so it began.

Slut Buttons

(I promise I’ll get back to the other story, but this one is begging to be writ, and I’m very very short on time this weekend. I know, you’ve heard it all before. But really…Why is *everything* (and I mean everything–every festival in the northeast) on September 28th this year? Seriously I could run 24 hours and never get to everything. Ah well, the pleasures of this life are many, right? Speaking of…..You may thank the lovely, sexy, sensual LadyP for this sordid tale….)

She lay facedown on the bed, one hand buried under the striped satin pillow, the other curled into a little fist under her chin. He stood looking at her, smiling. If it weren’t for her pretty ass hiked up as she lay with one knee drawn beneath her, he might take her for a young child, fallen asleep where she had been playing.

Truthfully, he had used her hard. He’d emptied himself in her during the night, had used toys and torture on her loveliness.  The long lines of the cane he favored crisscrossed the pale cream of her bottom, moved down the back of her legs. If he looked closely, he might see a few marks on the bottom of her feet. She had spectacular feet. Sensitive, long toes, a high arch, a shapely heel. Holding her foot in his hand and slapping the cane down the length had made her whimper and wail so beautifully it was like angels weeping.

From this angle, her bountiful breasts, and wet cunt were not visible. Thinking of that hot slit made him hard. He felt the stirring beneath the silk boxers he wore. His toes curled in the deep pile carpet as the familiar grinding in his balls heralded the rising of his shaft. Just looking at her fanny, and thinking of her pussy did this to him. Much as he adored watching her sleep, he suddenly craved disturbing her. Thumbs hooked in the band of his shorts, he made quick work of tugging them over his hips, shedding them as he stalked to the bed, a predator seeking its mate. Or perhaps its prey.

The sharp slap on her ass had her snapping awake, gasping. Her hand moved to rub at the reddening mark, but he seized her wrist flipping her to her back. In a flash he was upon her, straddling her, his balls resting on her belly button.  Her full breasts bounced as she fell upon her back, the perfect roundness of her areola a veritable beacon. They called to him. Touch me. Tug me. Hurt me. The back of his fingers grazed her nipples, stirring them to life.

“oh…nooooo…I…can’t. I’m not horny…Sir…I’m so tired.”

Her voice was a whimper designed for sympathy. He was not disposed to be sympathetic at this moment; his cock beat with a steady throb.


His finger moved to his lips, hushing her with the gesture.

“Sure you can. And I know just how to wake up my little slut. You have these little “on” buttons. Your ‘slut buttons’ will get your motor humming in no time.”

Fingers found the rising buttons, and pinched, hard. She whimpered, arching. He twisted to the right, as far as the skin would stretch. Her noises grew more interesting, a cross between a whimper and a moan.  Twisting to the left, the moan became guttural. He knew her cunt was drooling now, that she was close.

Funny little slut. Her nipples were her Achilles heel. She may claim exhaustion. She could moan about not being ready. But the slut buttons made her gush, every time.

He tugged, then let the swollen nubs slip from his fingers.

Sliding down her body, he tugged her legs up, over his shoulders. Her cunt glistened with wetness, the head of his cock lubed as he slid it up and down her hot, slippery slit.

Squeezing his shaft in his hand, gritting the back of his teeth, he willed himself to not blow early. The head of his shaft pressed, pressed hard, entered her painfully slowly. She grunted, wiggled, but his hands held her legs firmly up over his shoulders as his cock penetrated her ass. Steadily he filled her bum with his rigid length, until his belly touched her fanny. Her eyes were wide, shocked.

She’d expected a good pussy pounding.

He so enjoyed surprising her. His fingers reached for her buttons again, pinching, rolling them, turning her pussy into a melted oozing tunnel. He watched as it trembled like a flower in the wind, grasping at the emptiness as the orgasm shuddered through her.

Slowly, a bit of agony for him, he withdrew from her butthole. He bit down hard, resisting the primal urge to beat off inside her bottom, using her hard and fast. He knew she liked it that way best. This, however, was divine torture for him as well. He watched her face as he tormented them both. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her lip worried by her teeth. She was wincing, in pain and pleasure, he imagined. An anal probe with an orgasm.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he re-entered. He knew she liked it fast in her ass, liked the quickness of it, the pressure easing as he slid out as fast as he went in.

Not this time.

This was not going to be a quick how-do-you-do….this was going to take some time.

And he had nothing but time. He grinned as she winced. He felt the quivering of her rectum against his shaft. The squeezing  of her bum, like tight lips kissing each inch of him as he slid inside.

Exquisite torture indeed.

Laying his finger atop each of her buttons, he pressed them into her tit, watching them hide in the mounds of flesh as he withdrew his cock again, then slid deeply inside once more.

She came hard, panting like a bitch in heat as his fingers played with her tits, as his cock stretched her ass.

Leaning forward, pressing her legs back into her chest, he trapped his hands atop her tits, squeezing hard. His grin was wicked.

“A bit of sex poetry for my good, naughty girl, who keeps cumming even while I fuck her asshole. You say you don’t love it…but your cunt doesn’t lie.”


“Yes, exactly. Butt.”

He laughed, his tone deepening. He was close. Very close. In a moment he would spill himself into her again.

“This,” he said, teeth clenching as his balls boiled, “will be my Masterpiece of poetic works.”

She gasped as his fingers worked her slut buttons once more, moaning as her pussy clamped and clutched and ran with her juice. And giggled helplessly as He delivered his ‘poetic work’ between the spurts of his cock.

“The time, sweet slut has now begun.

Your buttons made me do it.

I’m cumming slut, such dirty fun,

its time to just get to it.

My poem now is almost done,

and you, my slut are full of cum,

buried up inside your bum.”


Those of you who know me a bit, know that I’m a wise-ass, and tend to “push the envelope” of proper behavior…in real life as well as being a submissive goes.

I’m going to obey. Mostly. 🙂 With…you know, a twist of nilla. I’m just wired that way, and He accepts that…He is not a protocol-driven Dom. I don’t have to count spanks, or say “thank you Sir” after every swat. As He points out, He’s been doing this sort of stuff since I was a teenager. (I know, right? 🙂  Also known as a “very long time, nilla”). Seriously, He was in the scene in Europe when I was in High School.  And likely when I was still a virgin (isn’t THAT an odder thought?)

Anyhow, I digress. He’s not stuck on protocols, He does things that please Him. I’m fine with that, too. He is strict about other things, like when I can cum, or eating ice cream…and it’s the level and need that work for us as a couple. This is a relationship, not just scene after scene after scene, and if he wanted to micromanage someone, He’d get a dog (or so He said to me once).

The other day He said something humorous but also obnoxious to me, and I swore I would attack His “little man nipples” during playtime.

I tried.

I really, really tried. We wrestled and wrangled, and hell, He may be older than me, but He is strong as a bull.

“Enough of this shit,” He mutters under His breath, and leaves me on the bed with the single command “stay”. It’ s a direct order. Of *course* I obey. I only push on the things I have wiggle room on, silly!

He turns back with the velcro cuffs. Oh fuck! Now I’ll *never* get His nips! I lunge for Him, He pushes me back, and quickly cuffs my dominant hand. I tussle, He pins me, and despite using all my reserves of guile and strength (I can’t even show Him this because He might hurt Himself laughing on that last bit there), He successfully grabs my other wrist, cuffing it, then grabs the length of “leash” between my wrists and tugs my hands up over my head.

“no,” He says, and flips me onto my belly, then proceeds to tug me off the bed, headfirst. I’m now braced on my fingertips, His arm over my ass, pinning me in place.


He moves away, then quickly back, and I feel a squirt into my crack. uh oh.

His finger saws in and out of my asshole, lubing it, then slides into my pussy.

“You’re so fucking wet, you whore,” He laughs.

And shoves this REALLY large double vibe into my ass and pussy and fucks me hard. I cum almost instantly. Something in my ass is one thing…but double insertion AND a vibe AND upside down? I’m lost, panting, confuddled, blood rushing to my head, my ass stretched around the big tool, my pussy squirting. I came multiple times.

Finally I hear His voice from far away…

“Had enough, slut?”

I mumble something like ‘yezzir…uhmmmmm” and cum again.

He laughs, pulls out the vibe, and lifts me by my shoulders, back up onto the bed.

I’m messed up, hair, mascara, lipstick smeared all over my face. He brushes away my hair, grinning at me.

“Leave my nipples alone, got it?”

I giggle.

I can’t help it, it is very amusing to this slut. I shake my head.

He tugs my wrists over my head, lays His elbow on the cording between, pinning me, and begins pinching and biting *my* nipples.

Tit for tat, I guess.


Face Time/ HNT

I was going to post this on Tuesday…because I had NO idea what was going to happen in UnderDom-land….but then…I had a dash of inspiration, despite my lack of awakeness- this change to Daylight Savings Time is kicking my ass, big time.  So, I have written stories, and yet…I still had this happy-bliss-Master & nilla post to share. I mean, why waste over a thousand words of writing, right? And it was a lovely visit with him…not a play visit, but just time to sit and be with him for an extended time.

Sooooo what to do?  I decided to make this ramble part of my HNT. I know, freaking brilliant, and me, so frigging sleep deprived!!)

I’m sharing a little nilla real life…coz I’m feeling all mellow and lovely and happy. 🙂

Master and I had over 2 hours to hang out tonight…no–wait…that happened on Sunday night— and it’s Thursday as you read this! (remember…nilla/sleep deprived!)

I’m all blissed-out, as us hippie-types say. He and I talked and talked and had tea and talked. He gave me a few parting bruises…but we both just enjoyed the hell out of our together time. It’s the longest stretch either of us has had together (outside of ONE playdate in February) since Christmas. I had time while my son was doing his thing, and Master had time…and it just flowed.

We’re still up in the air about this upcoming weekend. I have left it in his hands about whether we have a playdate or if we’re going to do something classy and cultural, like go to the museum.  I want both. I want to go to the museum with him…I love art, and love the idea of spending a day with him in vanilla circumstances.

Truth be told, there’s ALWAYS a dose of D/s whenever we’re together…I can’t ever recall a time when things were all vanilla –coz  He does or says something that makes me blink or sit up straight or …remember/realize/be brought back to the reality that I’m his submissive slut. It’s amazing coz He can do it with a look. It melts my heart and makes my pussy drool, and my heart race…and the feeling of security it engenders is…amazing.

On the other hand, time being fucked, and beaten, and tortured on my piggies (ewww…toothbrush between my toes is CRUEL and UNUSUAL punishment!!) is pretty important too…and that hasn’t happened in so long…and like SFP...I *realllly* need a spanking. Well, I’ve left it in His hands, and will just have to wait and see what He decides is best for us.


Tonight as we sat at the table, He says “Oh.”

That was it. Just “oh”, lips pursed, and giving me that Dom look.

Finally I ask.

“Oh? Oh what, Master?”

He reaches into His briefcase and takes out a small, neatly wrapped circle. It’s wrapped in a white napkin.

“In here,” he taps his finger on the package, “is a gourmet, freshly baked, chocolate chip cookie. It’s yours…if you’re willing to give up an O tonight for it.”

Now, nilla is “off” chocolate per His orders, so I understand this is a game and a challenge wrapped in one cookie. Yet I shake my head no.

“Master, last nights orgasm was so fantastic that I’m not willing to give up tonight’s O for a cookie.”

“Oh.” He says again.

“Oh. I forgot to mention.”

He reaches into his bag and pulls out a second wrapped cookie. Raising the stakes. Making saliva pool in my mouth. Making my pussy clench and throb.

“These,” He gestures to the two cookies, “are a sure bet. You choose them, you get them.”

He pauses, and his honey-gold eyes look into mine. I’m lost. I admit it. I’m sucked into His world of control and dominance like a leaf into a vacuum cleaner. I’m as into Him in this moment as I would be if I was standing on the Wall in black lace seduction outfit and red stiletto’s, as I am in pink sneakers and jeans here at the table in Starbucks. And then I KNOW what He’s going to say…that the Orgasm is NOT a guaranteed given.

These are the kind of things He does that keep me on my metaphoric toes, when He can’t thwap the shit out of me. He gets/holds/keeps my attention, my focus, my wits sharp. This is predicament bondage sans rope. Or perhaps more accurately, His words are the ropes that bind me, hold my attention, twist me up into knots, and make me crazy for Him.

Do I take a chance, spin the dice, play the odds and maybe get a fucking orgasm?(would you?) Saturday nights cum was more than a little delightful. It was intense in the best of ways. As I said to Him, I was very glad it was just ONE orgasm…a second one like that one might have killed me! Yes. It was *that* good. (and I have the stain on my sheets to prove it!)

Or do i take the sure thing? The two gourmet, soft, chocolate-chunk-laden cookies. Feel them melting in my mouth. Feel the chocolate as i bite into it. Feel the sugar rush, the taste of a banned food, allowed for this small window of time.

The orgasm the night before was sooooo good. But Tuesday, Like Day, is a guaranteed orgasm. And only 2 days away. (Two LONG BUSY BUSY BUSY days away)…

The cookies…chocolate…


I took the cookies.

For one of the rare times in my life, I took the sure bet. I had a better than 75% odds against getting the O since the Saturday one had been so immensely intense and good.

He laughed as I scooped up the cookies and stashed them in my purse.

“That’s okay, little girl,” He says in this voice that is brimming with amusement. “You have an entire week of half-o’s to have anyway, leading up to Sunday.”

And then He laughs, that Devils laugh that sends steaming shots of lust straight to my belly (and if you ever wondered why Michael’s laugh affects Shae so much? Now you know!) And I know I made the right choice. But I still moan about the fucking half O’s.

I ate the cookies on the way to pick up my son. They were *totally* worth the cost of an orgasm, btw. OMFG.


So… you guys.

You know who you are.

The ones who always say “MOAR”…when a story ends, or is slow to re-appear. Yeah. You. *laughs* Trust me, I LOVE when you are greedy for my stories. It makes me happy that you get something out of what I create. I love my stories, truly they are like my kids. So if you like them, too…? It makes my day.

But you are right. Sometimes there is more to tell. And you’ve encouraged me to write a book.

So I’m going to.


In my own way.

nilla-style, as it were. 🙂

I’m in the process of writing the backstory for Michael and Shae of UnderDom. I have created a new blog, a daughter blog to this one. So far, I have a few chapters up. I hope you give it a read and let me know what you think of it. I’ll keep working at the story until I think it’s all done. And you’ll have the full “novella”…for free.

Coz the idea of publishing terrifies me. Sorry, that’s just how I am. And I’m a huge fan of free porn, mostly coz I was never in a position until very recently to purchase any. My funds were all joint and I didn’t want my s/o to know what I was buying fer goshsakes. 🙂 That’s how this blog came into being in the first place. I guess it’s kind of like my “mission statement” … “Good Porn, Free” … so there you have it.

Oh, you will see the link in my sidebar.. “nilla novella’s”… I hope you like it! If not? C’est la vie, right?

Well you all, the time change from Standard Time to Daylight Savings Time is totally kicking my ass, so nilla is off to bed. Takes me a few days to get the hang of losing that hour. And it’s been a hella busy weekend. (Hopefully by the time you read this, I’ll be working my way towards adjusting…!)

Happy Half-nekkid Thursday, pervie readers!



 it takes a hit of pain,

(my drug of choice)

to make me cum

to remind me that I am a slut and

a craven woman who likes to be hurt,

the painslut

He knows me  to be…

So sometimes

~the bite of the pins is enough

      to bring me to sweet, blissful release.

Hasn’t He trained me well?


Space Sex (1)

ever have a story just grab you by the throat, shake the fuck outta you and *make* you write it? that’s exactly what happened with this one. Stuck in my head for two days, zinging around in all that space, and then finally throttling me until I sat down, at 10:21 p.m. to write the damned thing. And so it is done. A bit on the weird side, but yanno…it is a nilla tale…ya gotta expect some weird here! And I know, I know, unfinished tales in my queue, but really ….this story threatened to hurt me if I didn’t start writing it…

He threw his duffel across the room, landing it with practiced ease on his bed. His rack wasn’t all that big, but big enough. He’d worked long and hard to secure quarters that wouldn’t make him space-crazed.  That he was here in his quarters at all, rather than on deck was pissing him the fuck off.

Yeah, so he’d been snarky. Fuck ’em.

“Fuck ’em,” he growled.

“Request not understood.” The soft, sexy, definitely female voice of his room recreation computer even sounded puzzled.

“Nevermind,” he said with a sigh, ruffling his hair. He wore it longer than most did out here. He was an individual. Not a droid. Not a space nut, not even a long-term ranger. He would do his time, earn his credits, and then settle back on Earth on some tiny island like…Bimini or one like it. Someplace peaceful, warm, with miles of blue sky and blue water all around him.

He was getting tired of the blackness of space.

Perhaps he should have taken Rissa up on her offer of some bone-melting sex. Her words, not his. Any hole in a port, he thought a touch snidely. Rissa had fucked every other body on this ship, likely including the droids. She was one horny fucking bitch, to be sure. A terrific science officer, but her pussy was on overdrive. He’d never quite managed to be “caught” by her, but tonight, she might be just what he needed.

“That’s it. I just need a good fuck. But not just a hole…maybe someone to listen to me. Someone sweet. Someone horny but obedient. Someone who wants to please me, who won’t be upset if I smack her ass while I fuck it.”

He hadn’t fucked an ass in a thousand years, it seemed. Way back in his earth days, when he was at the institute, his girlfriend. What was her name? Kayla! Yes, that was it. She had been into anal big time, and had cum like a bitch in heat. He smiled, remembering.

He jolted at the soft tap on his shoulder.

She stood there, soft perfection.

And naked.

Very, very naked. Her tits were exactly what he liked. Round, firm melons with hard nipples jutting out, seeming to beg for his touch. His fingers ached with the longing to tug them, even as his mouth filled with spit from the strong tug of desire to suck and bite.

Her waist was narrow…but not wasp-thin. He preferred his women with a bit of meat on them. Her pubs were bare. He saw the fat puffy lips and the long line of her slit disappearing between her closed thighs. Her legs were long and strong looking-perfect for wrapping around his waist as he fucked her.


He was nonplussed. Who was this? Why was she in his berth? And how soon could he get his rigid cock in one of her holes.

“I’m for you.”

“She is for you, William.” The mellifluous voice of the computer came from the air around him…and from her lips. They spoke simultaneously.

“I am yours. Your body specs were read, and you were depleted in the area of sexual activity. Computer designed me to supplement your need. Do I please you?”


“Yes?” Again, like stereophonic sound from the olden days, he heard Computer’s voice from the hidden speakers in his room, and the naked girls mouth. He shook his head.

“Do I displease you?” She sounded…dejected.

“No! No, not at all. I just…had no idea that the computer could…would…was able…to do such a thing as this. I’ve never heard of it. Ever.”

“This is for you, William; you have gone without sexual release for 31 days, and without sharing sexual release with another since you arrived on the ship.  371 days.  Other humans have coupled. You have not. Your …preference for not sharing sex with the others on the crew have been noted.”

“So…you ….designed her for me? And I can …” he paused, reaching out to touch her, his hand on her shoulder. Her skin was soft as a rose petal, and warm. A smile bloomed on her face at his touch.

“She is a working unit of soft tissue. She is usable for several days before she needs to be refreshed. She will learn your preferences.  And grow and adapt to them. If you like to bite, she will enjoy being bitten. If you like to …”

“I get it!” He interrupted the computer before she could go into any more detail.

“I get it,” he spoke slowly, stroking down her shoulder to her tit, weighing it in his palm and stroking the hard nub of her nipple with his thumb.

“You get it,” she agreed, her voice a soft whisper as she leaned into his touch.

Desire (4)

His gentleness astonished her. Her lips burned from that kiss, seared with the branding of his mouth on hers. He sat on her belly, looking down at her. In the semi-darkness, his intense eyes were hidden.

“So innocent.”

She frowned. She may be many things, but innocent was not one of them. Opening her lips to protest, he once more laid his finger upon them, shushing her.

He slid off of her, and ran his hands up and down the length of her. The touch was light, almost tickling. She watched his hands moving across her skin, down her legs, touching her toes, then up her inner thigh. Oh, how she wanted his touch at that sensitive junction! His hand cupped her, just for a moment, then moved up, over her soft belly, around her belly button, until he cupped her throat.

“You are so vulnerable, yet you don’t see it. Not just because of these,” and he tugged gently on the ropes that held her right wrist. “But because of here,” and he tapped her forehead. For a moment, his hand squeezed around her throat.

“The balance of pain and pleasure is a constantly moving point. And there will come a time when your pain will outweigh your pleasure, which will enhance mine. Has any of your studying prepared you for that?”

He paused a moment, looking down at her with a ferocity that thrilled her, even as it frightened.

“No,” he answered his own question. “Some things must be experienced to be explained. So we go, into the darkness, together. If you need this to stop…at any time…your safeword will protect you. I will hurt you, hurt you and take great pleasure from your cries, your screams, the marks I leave upon you. But if the line of toleration is crossed, and you truly can bear no more, your safeword ends it, and you will be released. You must choose the word, Emily. One that you will remember in the throes of passion, and the depths of pain.”


The word slipped out from her. She had been thinking about safewords. Her reading had taught her that while some didn’t play with one, most D/s couples did. It would be her only “out” from being hurt more than she could bear. All she had read had spoken about the release of pain, the blending of pain and pleasure, the heady cocktail of it served by a Dom, and the joy of ‘subspace’ but she hadn’t understood it. She knew now that she would, by the end of this. And ‘pepper’ had come to her mind again and again…a stimulant, a piquant flavoring, heat, and bite …for her it symbolized what she knew of the D/s experience.

“pepper,” she spoke again. “And…do I call you Sir?”

“Yes, Emily. Pepper, and Sir. And now, you will lose your identity, and become my slut. You will answer to slut, to cunt, to whore, to fucktoy…or any title that I choose to give you in the moment. But Emily will be gone until you take your leave of me. Understood?”

She nodded, solemnly. It was one thing to read about this, those dirty names being applied to a girl…and it was another thing entirely to hear them used as her name. It gave her a quiet tickle in her tummy, a cross between nerves, and thrill. She felt…like the time she’d gone up in the Ferris Wheel when she was 12. Brave enough to attempt it on her own, despite her fear of heights. Going up had been a thrill ride, but the quaking fear when she was all the way up had made her belly quiver. That experience had been a curious blend of fear, and powerlessness, and the thrill of doing something she’d never dreamed she’d be brave enough to attempt.

This felt exactly like that.

His hand traced whorls around her right tit, around and around. She felt dizzy, watching it. She wanted his touch on her nipple. She wanted to be fucked. She, who had never delayed gratification of her sexual needs, was submitting even that to this man. It was a multi-layered puzzle, this submission thing. It was more than just letting him tie her up. It was more than just agreeing to his demands at any given moment.

It was giving him virtually everything.

For a moment, she wondered at that. At this moment, he could do anything to her. He could beat her sensually, or he could beat her senseless. He could use her violently, call in an army of friends to share her with, sell her into slavery, or kill her. She’d protest any of that, naturally, but it all boiled down to trusting that this man, this Dominant man, would use her for their mutual pleasure.

Yes…exactly that…. trust.

It took a lot of faith to believe him, that his words would honor his intentions. At this point she could only go by his reputation. Thus far, no rumors of anything untoward had ever carried through the halls of Boisvert, Stein, and Lichen about him. That sort of thing would, wouldn’t it?

For a moment, just a sliver of time, a bolt of fear stiffened her. He could kill her. Maim her. Harm her. What the fuck was she doing here? Yet his hand continued to make slow, lazy circles around her breast, and she felt herself gentled by that touch. She relaxed, with every circle he traced on her skin, until she found her place of peace.

His eyes stayed steady on her face, as if watching all the emotions playing there. When at last her heartbeat slowed from thundering panic to trembling excitement, his fingers closed around her nipple, and pinched, hard.

Desire (3)

Immobilized, she could only look around the room wide-eyed. Though she might have longed to touch some of what was here, strange objects hanging on the wall that she had read descriptions on in the previous week, she couldn’t get free and go exploring.

She lay in his bed, spread-eagled. The how of it was astonishing. One moment she was filled with temper, wanting to bite, kick, scream at him. The next they were here, in his loft and she was naked. It was a blur, a fantasy, a longing so intense she wondered if she’d had a breakdown and slipped without a sound, into a fantasy world.

But she remembered the burning fire of his eyes as he’d bound her wrists, her ankles,  to the sturdy bedposts. And the single touch of his fingertip, tracing her from the hollow at the base of her throat, between her breasts, stopping just shy of where she most craved his touch.

And then he had left.

“Part of submission is learning to wait. Waiting for my desires, will heighten yours.” The door had closed with a soft snick. The only illumination in the room came from the soft glow of candles. The scent of cinnamon and fir filled the space, the shadows tantalized with all the instruments of torture on the walls around the bed.

There was no clock, no glow from around any windows to inform her of the passage of time. Time just flowed around and through her, the numbers on a dial immaterial to what she was doing.

Breathing, to be sure.

Craving. She had an intense craving for him to touch her. That single burning touch had been so gentle. She’d been prepared, if she was totally honest with herself, for brutality. Yet through the time he bound her to his bed, he’d been gentle.

Fierce, but still gentle.

His eyes had burnt with a fierceness that might have freaked her out, if she hadn’t been looking at him with a longing that was just as intense. He’d been in her dreams all week, playing out the scenes of depravity that she’d watched on her computer screen. Yet, for all that his fingers had been strong and sure, they had been careful against her flesh.

Though the rope ran round and round her wrists and ankles, there was a bit of wiggle room. Not enough to pull free, but certainly not enough to leave marks.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. All the research she’d done had suggested that “submissives” enjoyed their bruises, wearing them like badges of honor, rather than “wounds”.

The door opened, interrupting her musing. He came to the side of the bed, and looked at her. His gaze lingered a moment on her tits, and her nipples rose to tight buds.

“Eager, are we?” He spoke softly, but did not touch her. For some reason, she didn’t feel compelled to speak, complacent enough for the moment to watch him watching her. Her breath caught, held a moment as his hand hovered over her lower belly, certain that now he’d touch her. But his hand just hovered there, as if feeling the heat from a campfire. He smiled softly to himself, then glanced at her mouth.

“What are your expectations, I wonder, little one?” But as she opened her lips to answer, he laid a finger across them, and shook his head. With one last glance at her, he crossed the room to a chair, and sat. As he settled in, he was lost in the shadows cast by the wings; all she could see were his legs, one leg crossing the opposite knee.

She wanted to squirm. To speak. To break the unexpectedly uncomfortable feeling of being looked at like…an object. She also felt a growing warmth between her thighs, and an answering wetness. Good God! If he moved her, he’d see the wet spot she was creating. The embarrassment flushed her skin, rising her nipples to pertness again. Gooseflesh rose, then faded, and still he watched her. After a time, embarrassment turned to indignation. The bastard!

“I…” she began but his soft “shhhhh” silenced her.

A myriad of emotions swelled, then ebbed. At long last, he rose from the shadows. He spoke not a word, just pressed his fingers into the cleft between her splayed legs, running them up and down the slippery wetness there. How she wanted him to invade her, to take.

Every fantasy she read was all about the Dominant and their selfish taking! Why the fuck was he not following the script? Yet those fingers merely continued to slip up and down her slit, always carefully missing her clit, never entering her pussy. She tried lifting her buttocks a bit, rising into his hand, but he kept the pressure steady, just a tickle of a touch.

When his hand slipped away, she was desperate to fuck. She, new though she was, knew better than to speak. He’d shushed her twice, and she didn’t want to have their first time be about punishment. She’d read about that very carefully. She’d be good, quiet, obedient. But she needed to be fucked!

His lips traced the curve of her breast, tenderly caressing the plump mounds, again bypassing the center of her sex need. She wanted, craved his lips on her nipple, but always, through licks and kisses and gentle sucking, he missed it.

She began to realize the subtlety  of his torture. He was turning her on, and denying her the touch she craved. Why, the devious bastard! She smiled, fast, but he saw it. Rising, he straddled her,  and kissed her.

His body was heavy, the feeling of his jeans against her sides, her belly was an unexpected turn on. They were new, rough and scratchy as he settled the weight of his body on her.

The kiss was soft, gentle. His lips teasing hers, nudging her open, his mouth a caress on hers. Tongues twined, tasting one another as she gave into the moment. She was falling hard, falling fast, needing, craving, wanting.

At this moment, in this time, she was desire, incarnate.