Waves of Submission

During play time, things come in waves…times of interaction, greeting, choosing outfits, laying out our stuff. Times of touching and hurting and coming. Times of talking. Times of silence. Times of soft, quiet torture, followed by soothing strokes.

So too does my memory come back to me in waves. During our together time, I’m always in the moment with Him. Always aware, thinking I’ll remember EVERYTHING that happened. And then the day progresses, and pain layers upon pain, and lust upon lust. I am both filled, and drained…and can’t think a cogent thought. It takes time for things to trickle down to my conscious memory.  Now, days later,  things come to mind in quick flashes, images of things I saw, impressions of things I felt, hot flashes of hurt, hotter flashes of sex and pain rolled tightly together. I remember toys, and the brush of his beard against my throat. I recall the weight of his body pinning mine, his hands diving under my shirt to attack my tits. His fingers wrapped in my hair as I suck his cock, or pulling me backwards on the bed to be right where he wants me. The sound of his hand hitting my rump, the sharp and staccato beat of it, followed by the searing heat on my skin. So many images, sometimes moving in a flash as I do some mundane task. I pause and see the movie unfolding.

Near the end of our playtime, the heat and the pain and lust all roll together until I’m begging him to hurt me harder, make me cum harder, make me weep with the pain and joy of it. He laughs with a soft, triumphant sound into my ear. “yes, yes, beg me for it. you want the pain. you want it.” His fingers ram into my cunt, jabbing and thrusting and twisting until I feel like he’s going to pull me inside out. I whine “It hurts, Master, hurts so much…” and his voice hums into my ear, “I know, I know it hurts, doesn’t it? That’s when it’s the best, little girl…”

And i explode.

I cum so hard it hurts, his hand leaving my cunt, only to start slapping my clit and pussy so hard the bed is shaking.

He laughs when my next orgasm squirts from me. This is a huge turn on, just writing this, remembering this. But I’m not writing about orgasms tonight, no matter how good they are, how wet and lovely they are.

No, I’m thinking of that first wave of togetherness. When we’re …reacquainting ourselves with one another. When  all is fresh and new, when I’m just getting into the headspace, when I’m letting regular life go and submersing myself into submissive nilla place…that’s a crystal clear memory. My hair is just right, my lipstick bright. My things are laid out, and I’m ready for fun. I forget how much fun hurts at this time. I just remember the floaty part, not the journey there.

I’m dressed in the outfit he chose. I’m in the shoes, on the bed, having been torn between laughter from his fiendish tickling, and pain as he mauls my tits. I’m laying there in the middle of the bed, awash with sensations, already drained, tousled, mussed, tossed around, bruising.

He rises from the bed, moves to the bathroom. I can’t even open my eyes.

“Stay there” he says in the Dom voice.

You know the one, right? There’s the talking voice, there’s the playful voice, and then there’s the Dom Voice.

Stay there.

It’s firm, no nonsense, don’t fuck around tone sends shivers through my bones, raises goose-flesh on my skin, and thrills me. I’m not capable of defying that voice, of playing around and getting up and hiding toys. He’s serious, he means it.

Stay there.

I can’t even think about dozing off, as the words bounce in my head,  echo around my mind. That tone. Gods, how it affects me! I can feel the submission leaking from that hidden corner inside me, the one I didn’t think existed anymore. I’m no longer merely talking about  submission (in a somewhat hopeful way…) I AM a submissive. I shiver, and am put in my place, though I haven’t moved an inch. I am fully, totally his. A slut. No. His slut. A toy. A possession. His toy, his possession. I lay in the bed as he rises. He pauses at the foot of the bed, speaks.

Stay there.

And walks away.  I don’t think. I don’t whine. I obey.

I half-whisper my reply.

yes Sir.

 

Dr. Strangeguy~Unfeeling (part 1)

“Tell me, little girl, why are you here?”

“Well, uhm…”

“Now, now, none of that temporizing. I’ve been on the edge of retirement, yet your call brought us here to my office today. Speak.”

“It’s gone. I-I’m afraid I …lost it.”

Her head hung low, her long red hair hiding her face. Her hands clenched and unclenched in her lap. In her sandal-clad feet, even her toes, painted a brilliant purple to match the lone streak in her hair, curled tight. His finger, bent from his years, caught her chin and lifted her face.

Concern was clear on his face. The sharp eyes seemed to peer into her.

“It’s time to breathe, time to tell me all.”

“I…”

Her eyes fluttered downward, looking at his feet. He’d never professionally dressed for these sessions. Part of her thought it might be to comfort his patients, who came from the hinterlands of Maine. Part of her was certain he had way too much “don’t giveafuck” to even notice what he dragged on each morning. The incongruity of his nobbly toes peaking out from ancient birkenstocks made a small smile flit across her mouth.

“Here. Look at me.”

There, that was the tone that she could never resist. The firm command of a Dom–whether he was a doctor or a landscaper–always made her obedient. Her blue eyes rose to his; nerves made butterflies dance in her belly.

“It’s…hard for me to talk about this with you staring into me,” she whispered.

He grinned. Her body clenched for a moment. A smiling Dom, even one who was not acknowledging himself as one, always made those areas of her body waken. This, this was why she drove so far to see Dr. Strangeguy. It never failed to help her slough off the stupor of her ‘regular’ life.

“Continue,” he said, his tone firm. She nearly rolled her eyes at that order–what therapist demanded words? Weren’t they supposed to be content to let people move through things at their own pace?

“I…have…been…stifled lately. For a long time all my stories had left me. And now, now I can feel them there, under my skin. But I don’t have a way to let them out.”

“I see,” he said, his finger still firmly under her chin. She felt a tiny loss  when he moved away. The heat from even that slight touch burned neatly in a fingertip sized circle on her skin.

He moved away, behind her, then passed in front of her again.

“Do you do your laundry every day?”

She blinked. What?

“What?” she said, echoing the confusion in her head.

“Do you wash your dishes, take out your trash, mow your yard, go to work?”

“Well…well, of course I do,” she replied, bemused.

“So you are making time for all these other parts of you, but ignoring this other, equally essential part?”

“Well…” she said, then paused.

She shook her head, frowned. It hadn’t occurred to her until he spelled it out that way.

“I guess…I am.” Her frown deepened.

“Sit.”  He shoved her, hard, one large hand pressed between her breasts. Falling back into the chair, she was too stunned to protest.  “Stay,” he said, moving deeper into the office.

Sit. Stay. Was she a fucking dog now? A protest rose to her lips, yet when she opened them to speak, a hard rubber ball slipped inside.

“Waaagh,” she tried to forestall him around the ball gag.

“No, no more waiting for what it is you really need, slut. You are a slut, as you have acknowledged here before. You pay me to help you. Sit, stay, and be a good girl.”

A blindfold slipped over her eyes. There was almost silence in the room, though she strained to hear. Rough rope wrapped around her left wrist, securing her arm to the chair. Her lips moved, though to protest or moan she wasn’t certain. She felt the hot splat of saliva on her left breast, soaking into her blouse and bra. There was a tremor in her belly now as her right wrist was also secured.

“I’ve thought about your problem. It’s time. Specifically, time management. To slow down time, we’ll keep that blindfold on.”

A rough hand rested briefly on the top of her head.

“Your other issue is touch. Staying in touch with all the parts of you. If part of you ceases to function, it puts a stress on the rest of you. I see the tension in your body as you sit there. Some of that is nerves–that’s good. But some of that is because you’re out of practice, out of touch, with who you really are.”

He paused and she heard him moving around the room again.

“We can cure that easily enough. You’ve paid for a multiple hour session. And a long session is exactly what you need. And what you’ll get.”

She felt the rope loosening from her wrists.

“Stand,” he spoke curtly.

She stood.

“Remove your clothing.”

“Wha?” she spoke wetly around the ball gag.

A hard swat on her ass make her squeak, jolting.

“Naked. Now.”

She obeyed, shivering at the knowledge that he was now looking at her. A Dom doctor with a naked patient. He walked around her. She felt the brush of air on her back, her butt, her nipples as he moved. Another quick shiver ran down her shoulders. Her nipples tightened. She felt vulnerable, exposed.

Excited.

Still, he didn’t touch her. Moved away from her, in fact, across the room where she couldn’t hear clearly. The gag in her mouth made her drool, and she felt the splatter of it on her chest. Ugh.

“I believe we shall start with this, my dear,” he said from behind her. She felt the roughness, felt his hands–how had she thought them too gnarled?–run nimbly around her back, crossing the rope, pulling it tightly around her chest, cross again on her back. He stepped to the front of her and began to wrap one tit. It tingled. It hurt gently. It was delicious. He wrapped the other tit, then continued to carry the rope up around her back. Her arms were now bound behind her, her tits thrust up and out. She wished she could see, they felt amazing.

Hearing the sound of the seat confused her. What was he doing? Sitting there?  Looking at her? She stood, shifting from one foot to the other. Nervous. Her tits began to ache. As suddenly as they felt good, they began to throb. She moaned.

“There we go. Now you’re ready.”

The first strike of the cane against her nipple made her yelp. But she quickly lost count of the tap-rap-tapping against one breast, then the other. It hurt. It throbbed. She yelped often, especially when he struck across her engorged nipples.

“If you think it hurts now, just wait until the clamps go on,” he whispered into her ear. “Oh, by the way, you have pussy juice running down your leg. I do believe you’re feeling again. Feeling fine, I’d say. And still so much session time. I might even go over time, no charge of course.”

He laughed softly against her ear.

Shuddering at the tone, the caress of warm breath on the tender orb, she came.

 

 

 

 

 

Listen

sometimes you have to write when you get the chance to write…it’s short, but it’s been in my head for days…

addendum #2…I just found this in my archives, half-finished from October 2016.  I really needed to finish this, you know, because. Because….well, sometimes one is just in the mood for a good hard fuck. Am I right? 😀 ~nilla~

The note was on the floor in front of the mat. She knew what she had to do.  Go to the mat and sit.

She sat. Settled herself. Wriggled. Settled again. She picked up the note.

close your eyes

She closed her eyes. But wait! How was she supposed to do all the instructions if she couldn’t freaking read them?? Her eyes popped open.

yes. I said close your eyes. But read all the directions first, slut. Sometimes you’re too quick to obey…do one thing, and do it fully. Read. Process. Then follow the damned instructions.

She could hear his voice, the mix of wry humor and a dash of annoyance. A smile played across her lips, before she continued reading.

Close your eyes. Breathe. Slowly, for five minutes. When the time is up, you’ll hear a chime. Behind you will be a blindfold. With your eyes closed, and only by putting your hands behind you–and by being as still as possible–find the blindfold, then put it on. Hands palm up on your thighs, and settle into your breath.

“Master, the yogi,” she whispered softly. He often compared submission to meditation, and had apparently set up today’s playtime to illustrate that.

More play, less omh, she thought, disgruntled at the thought of what she was missing. She needed to be fucked, dammit! Orgasms! Many wonderful orgasms! His hands on her, oh how he delivered pain to her ~ and oh, how her body sang with each pounding beat. That moment when her heartbeat marched to the same rhythm of his hand? There was nothing to compare.

She sat, breathing, eyes closed. Remembered that when thoughts flowed in, she was to gently push them away, like little words encased in bubbles. The chime startled. Had it been five minutes…and wait a damned minute.

Shit! The blindfold part. She reached behind her. Nothing. Trying to be as still as possible while searching for something that was behind you with your eyes closed? Just about the most ridiculous thing. Like, ever. A small growl of frustration escaped her.

“Growling isn’t very meditative.”

His voice came from right in front of her. She jumped a mile. Her mouth opened as she prepared to yell, but his finger pressed against her lips, silencing her. The blindfold settled over her closed lids.

“Good slut.”

The praise warmed her, even as her pussy throbbed in need. The tap on her mouth made her open; the ball gag was big, really huge. Her jaws were stretched wide as could be to accommodate the girth of it. How this was at all sexy and appealing to him was a mystery. Senses fine-tuned, she could smell the musky scent of him. How she longed to break posture and wrap her arms around his knees, press her face into the junction of his thighs, inhale deeply the hot fragrance of his crotch. She longed to lick his cock, to run her lips over the curves and lines of his shaft, to feel him grow strong and hard on her tongue.

He stepped away. Though he was silent, the heat and smell that read as “Master” had dissipated. Feeling her mouth fill with saliva, she burned with embarrassment as she felt it slip into the holes of the gag, anticipated the feeling of the first spattering of her own spit on her tits. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

He was nearby, she was sure of it. The knowledge that he was looking at her, kneeling there, blind and gagged, with spit drizzling onto her body as she struggled with the need to move, to wiggle, to wipe away the now cold ooze made her uncomfortable; yet the knowing also made her hot. She felt a different sort of dripping along her left ankle, and knew that her cunt was also drooling for his cock.

Her knees ached. Her back felt stiff. Her nipples grew hard as the air moved around her nakedness.

“Come here. Crawl.”

How did he know she was so close to breaking? He was a freaking dominant genius, that was how. She followed the direction from where his voice came, crawling on all fours like the slutty beast she was, until she bumped into his leg.

“Turn around, forehead on the floor.”

Which meant her ass and cunt would be on full display. Egads, how she loathed this part. It was hot, that she did it because he demanded it of her, but it embarrassed her no end. To have him staring at her ass, her asshole. It was humiliating, and hot. It was always a shock, his fascination with her anus.

His fingers slid up her pussy, flicking her clit, diddling at the entry of her fuckhole. Her moan was loud as his fingers teased along that hot, slick opening.

“You’re hot and wet here, whore. Tells me you want something stuck in here. Tells me  you want a good fucking. Is that true? Is that what your cunt is saying to me?”

“assssss errrrr” She mumbled around the gag.

The fingers slid easily inside of her. The sound was a moan of pure pleasure, her back arching to encourage him ‘more’. She wanted his violence. She wanted to be used in the most brutal  of ways.

fuck me, hard. use my cunt. rape it, abuse it, slap it, make me…”

She moaned, losing focus on her thoughts as he plunged his fingers deeper. The sound when he pulled out was one of disappointment and loss. She needed it! Needed those incredible fingers. Until one by one they popped into her ass. She squirmed, groaning. She wasn’t a fan of anal, yet it drove her crazy. Her pussy began to ooze steadily, an orgasm building in her belly. Her ass began to hurt, painfully stretched by his big fingers in her hole. He shoved them in, tugged them out, the roughness of the assault only adding to the fire in her cunt. She was close, so close to an orgasm.

He stopped.

His fingers pulled out of her throbbing rectum, wiped across her ass.

“Turn around.”

She had no idea which way ‘around’ was.  She rose, her forehead feeling like a mold of the wood floor, trying to find the right place to be. His fingers closed in her hair, tugging her forward. She felt the fine fabric of his work slacks, smelled the fine scent of his cock.

“You want this?”

He slapped her cheek with his semi-hard shaft. She nodded, her nose turning left, right, seeking. The gag was released; she gulped breath, trying not to groan at the feeling of all that spit on her face. The bouncing of the ball was her only clue that he was ready, until his hands grabbed her head and rammed his cock into her mouth. He fucked her mouth as roughly as he’d fingered her ass.

Gods! How she loved how hard he used her!

It didn’t matter that she gagged as he grew longer, harder, thicker. It didn’t matter that her hair was pulled, her cheeks squeezed tight, that her nose was filled with male crotch hair, even though it smelled of pee. She focused on the velvety sensation of his cock coming to life in her mouth.

He pulled out of her mouth.

“I’m going to fuck the holy shit out of you, slut.”

With that, he fell on her, slamming her back to the floor, his body weight pinning her, as his cock unerringly found its way into her slippery cunt. His pants were below his thighs, the zipper scraping along the inside of her leg, and still she whined for more, harder. His body slapped against her, into her, the roughness of his hands using her tits as handles as he drove fiercely. Her cunt screamed, leaking juices like a squeezed lemon. It was rough and hard and with every thrust she could feel her body gearing up to explode. When the fingers from one hand slid between them, found her clit and pinched it hard, she arched, letting him drive deeply into her core. She screamed as she bucked under him, the shock of the pleasure so intense that she didn’t need the blindfold to keep her in the dark.

*******

She awoke in the dark alone. He’d stayed longer than usual, using her again and again until, when she fainted the last time, from the pain and the bliss, he folded her up in his arms and tucked her throbbing body in bed. She glanced at the clock. Uncannily, she’d woken just minutes before her alarm went off. Her body throbbed as she rolled to her side to get up. Her ass and pussy ached, her arms and tits and legs all carried a varying degree of ouchies.

It was going to be a good day.

 

 

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 (3)

The waiter came to the table before she could sit. Before she could figure out how to get her panties back from Sir’s boss. Before she could sink through the floor in mortal embarrassment.

“Your booth is ready, Sir.”

Somehow they were across the restaurant, seated in a curved booth. Somehow she was sandwiched between the two men. Their order was taken, the waiter moving away, leaving them in privacy.

“Cute panties.”

He held them up, suspended on one long finger. She swallowed, trying to dislodge the thickness in her throat. She was about to die from humiliation.

“Cat has her tongue.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. I hear she has a wonderful tongue, too.”

The two chuckled.

“This isn’t funny, you know.” She stared at her place setting, refusing to make eye contact.

“On the contrary. It’s funny as hell,” said Sir’s boss. “You have questions, I imagine. Let me tell you a bit about me, and we’ll see how well I do answering the unspoken things in your head.”

He waited, seeing the sommelier coming towards them with a bottle of wine. Approving it, they sat in silence as each glass was poured.

“A toast,” he said, lifting his glass. “To submissives–the world would be far too boring without them.”

They clinked glasses and sipped. She frowned into her glass. Clever, he was. And clever Dom’s were dangerous doms. Her pussy lurched at the thought.

“Your husband and I met at a club, quite by accident. He was…” he paused, searching for the right word. “Unhappy. We talked about his work while sitting at the bar. There was a formidable Dominatrix who tried to put the moves on him, but we found someone else for her to scene with. After that, we started to talk about my business. Turns out that he had skills that I needed to complete my team. That we were both Dominants sealed the deal for me. Things clicked for us, and I’m very pleased with what he’s brought to the job. We have not played together–he explained that you are very nervous about public play–but he speaks very highly of you as a wife and as his submissive. He told me of your joint fantasy of playing with another Dominant.”

Her heart kicked up a few notches. Sir had not said a thing to her about this! Well, not since the last time she’d told him of her fantasy, at any rate. He’d held her tight after a tough scene, her body singing with pain and release. Sated, floaty, he’d asked her to share a fantasy, and she’d told him. He hadn’t spoken of it afterwards–and sometimes she wondered if she had just imagined the conversation had happened. Yet it was still in her, this ragged bit of naughty. To scene with another Dom. With Sir participating. To be fuckmeat. To be used rough, fucked hard, beaten. It was a fantasy that always got her off when she masturbated. She wasn’t sure that she wanted it to be real.

“I know this might well seem to be rather sudden to you, but we’ve actually been planning this for some time, so that you don’t think this was something we both leapt into. I’m willing to get to know you, to see if you will suit me before we decide if we’re compatible for playtime. I have no interest in owning you. I have no interest in ruining my working relationship with your husband. I do wonder if you’re going to be able to complete the task he’s set you to tonight…or if this has come as such a surprise that your ass is leaking.”

My gawd. He knew that, too? Her face flamed.

“Show him your tits.”

She turned to Sir, mouth open. His finger gestured at the buttons on her blouse. There was no bra beneath it, the deep blue color of the fabric hiding the dark circle of her aureola.

“Remove it from your waistband. That’s right, pull it out from your skirt. Now, unbutton it. The whole thing. Keep going…”

Her fingers moved at his orders but slowed as she reached the fifth button, the one just below her breasts. Her shirt would hang slightly open, anyone passing their booth would see her tits. Despite the momentary hesitation, her fingers obeyed, even when her mind objected. Somehow her shirt was unfastened, her hands laying softly in her lap. The bands of the blouse were apart by an inch.

“Here girl, turn toward me.”

Sir nodded, poking his finger against her cheek to turn her head. Again those sparkling blue eyes caught at her. Angling her body slightly, she turned to the man warming her left side. His finger curled under the edge of her shirt, lifting and parting it, exposing her left breast. Though she could feel the warmth of the digit, he never made contact with her flesh. Erotic, overwhelming, sensual– so in the moment she could barely breathe, so turned on she was sure that there’d be a big wet spot on the bench under her pussy.

Her asshole remained tightly clenched.

 

 

 

Perverted Pleasures (3)

If there were others serving in the house, she didn’t see them. After being walked down the sidewalk (two paces behind me, slut, he’d ordered, she remembered with the tang of embarrassment still fresh in her mind) bare-assed naked, and up a set of stone steps and into the big house, she’d expected a big crowd. A club of sorts.

But no.

It was just Master and Sir. She wondered what else would happen to her. Lust curled in her belly, knowing that she’d signed her fate when she’d desired this perverted vacation. She wanted to know what it was that she had been missing all these years when business came before pleasure.

Working her way around the foyer, she tried not to think about how much her knees were aching, how much her back hurt from scrubbing the marble floor with a toothbrush. It was almost impossible to ignore the deep and steady throb of her ass, which was still filled by the anal plug. Yet cleaning the floor this way did split her attention from some of her discomfort. It was such a lowly thing to do, and while she understood perfectly the mindset behind the chore, part of her seethed with impatience. When would she continue to be treated as she had in the car, as a wanton, usable slut?

“You missed a spot.”

She jumped a foot. So lost in her musings, she had been blinded to his approach.

“I’m sorry Sir,” she mumbled, eyes glued to the floor.

“Get that sorry ass over here and fix it.”

As she turned and crawled towards him, humiliation washed over her. Oh, to be treated like a maid. She who could have bought and sold this property ten times over–

A hard jerk on her leash made her choke.

“Pay attention slut. I don’t know where your mind is at, but when I’m here it must be on me.”

Giving the leash another hard tug, he used the free end to swat at her. The sting along her upper back was painful, but, she conceded, justified.

“I’m sorry Sir.”

“Head on the floor, curve your back and show me your cunt.”

The spot where he pointed was wet from her ministrations. Her forehead pressed against the soapy wet tile. She wasn’t happy about that; it was cold and smelled of cleaning solution. She hated for her skin to be touched by it. She remembered all the money she’d spent on face creams over the years. Fingers dipping into her displayed pussy broke her thoughts. Suddenly all her attention was focused on the sensations that his curling digits were causing.

“Don’t you even think about moving. No fucking, no begging. You’re here to be used–a vessel, holes, a cunt. You’re an ass and a mouth and pussy. All hot and wet and available to be used as we choose.”

His fingers slid free. Wiping her wetness on her back, he took up the leash.

“Follow me.”

“On my knees?”

He spared her a brief glance.

“You can walk–for now.”

She rose quickly in case he changed his mind, and followed the proper distance behind. She remembered something about her hands at the small of her back, and placed them there. She wanted to please him–please them both–and she wanted to be fucked.

Master sat on a chair in the middle of the room. His thickened cock had a slight curve to it.Sir brought her forward, looping the leash onto the raised finial on the back of the chair.

“Straddle me and sit on my cock.”

She did as she was bid, yet not as gracefully as she’d hoped. Her leg banged his erect cock, and a sharp slap and verbal admonishment to ‘be careful for fuck’s sake’ made her want to sink through the floor. Somehow she got herself sorted out until she was poised, her pussy lips parted by the flaring head below her.

“Sit. Do it slowly. I want to feel every inch of your cunt as you impale yourself.”

It was a tight fit. He was large, and her ass was still filled with the beast they’d shoved up there in the limo. Her clit rose and began to throb. Her nipples tingled and tightened . Breath came in short excited gasps as he filled her belly with his cock.

“Fuck me. Slow and easy. Up and down.”

It was easy at first. The excitement took her through the first strokes easily enough. Her thighs began to burn after a bit, her calves shook after a few more squats. Her pussy wanted it faster, but she kept to the same steady rhythm.

When his fingers grasped her nipples and pulled them down as she was lifting up, she came.

“There is no cumming without permission.”

Shivering with the shock of having an orgasm with virtually no warning, she opened her mouth to protest. Seeing the look on his face, she stopped herself from speaking. Eyes falling to his belly, she whispered her apology.

“Peter? Mr. Blue, I think.”

She wanted to look around and see who Mr. Blue was, but his arms came around her, hugging her body close to his. His cock was fully impaled, her legs shaking from the workout, as she straddled his lap. There was a tug against her ass, the stretching pain as the anal plug was removed.

She farted.

Loudly.

And cried out in shock and pain as the larger “Mr. Blue” filled her rectum.

Perverted Pleasures (2)

They hadn’t told her of the butt plug that awaited her in the limo, nor of the resounding, over-his-knee spanking that Master delivered as they pulled away from the curb. His hand was large and covered a huge amount of ass with every blow. He spanked hard, down her thighs, across her hips, up even to her back, the slaps echoing inside of her somehow.

It was as she lay there, across his lap, gasping through the tears, that she felt the probing against her pussy lips.

“She’s so fucking wet.”

“She’s a slut. She’s gonna be wet.”

“Good for her–lotta lube–the natural kind!”

The two chuckled a moment. The large hand pressed against the base of her neck, as his other slapped hard at the bottom of her butt. One slap, two, six. The same fucking spot over again. Nine, twelve slaps. Fifteen. Twenty one.

“How many was that, slut?”

“Twenty-one,” she spoke, the sob hitching in her voice.

“Ah.”

He struck again.

“I have a fondness for round bottoms, and round numbers,” he said with a laugh. “Proceed, Peter.”

There was pressure against her asshole. Though she tried to lift her head, Master’s hand was like an anchor, holding her in place. As the pressure grew, she tightened her anus.

“Fighting it.”

“Good enough. She’ll learn.”

“I’ll get the rubber mallet…”

“WHAT?!” she squeaked, her voice snaking around his shoelaces.

There was a sudden firm push and whatever he was doing landed deep inside her asshole.

“OH FUCK! That hurts! OUCH!”

“Stop fighting when he puts things in your ass, then.”

“It burns.”

“Does that when he uses toothpaste for lube. It’ll tingle for a while. Remember to not piss him off again, slut or he’ll slather it with icyhot gel…then you’ll really have an ass of pain.”

He tugged her up from his lap, and pressed her to the floor.

“Sit there. Yes, right there with your ass stuffed full of rubber. I know it hurts, doesn’t it?”

He handed her a bottle of water and picked up his phone. In a moment he was busy texting as she sat, ignored. A foot prodded her tit.

“My cock wants your mouth. Turn around.”

Sir’s limp cock hung between his splayed knees. Even flaccid it was big. She scooted forward, wincing at the fullness in her ass. It felt like she needed to take the biggest shit in her life. Her anus throbbed. Her lips encircled his shaft, sucking the head into her mouth, the thick head resting on her tongue.

“Right there. No…no sucking. Just hold it in your mouth and keep it warm and wet.”

His fingers reached down, grabbing her nipples and tugging as if to move her closer.

“No–don’t move. I want to see how far these babies will stretch.”

She moaned around his cock as he pulled slowly, firmly, steadily. It felt like he was trying to rip her tits off of her chest by her nipples. Yet she also felt like someone had set a match to her clit. The throb there was incredible. Her body was so alive!

“No cumming.”

The deep voice of her Master interrupted her introspection. She couldn’t really speak with a cock in her mouth, one growing steadily firmer.

“Wa Ma trr?”

She tried, but earned a cuff to her ear.

“No talking with my dick in your mouth, cunt!”

It was incredible, the connection between her nipples and her cunt, the way every jostle of the limo tugged her tits this way and that, adding to the ache that his fingers coaxed from them. It was incredible how wet she was, how much she wanted to suck. He was a stranger, but all normal “fears” had flown out the window. Here she was running on pure adrenaline.

The car slowed, then stopped. She didn’t move, hadn’t been instructed to move.

“You’ll need this.”

Master wrapped something heavy around her throat. The click of a hasp and the weight of leather leash let her know that he’d collared her, something that she’d looked forward to. While wearing his collar, he owned her fully. Lost in the rapture of giving her fate to another, she barely noticed what else was going on. Hands were busy on her body; it took a moment to realize that she was being stripped. Surely they didn’t mean to have her exit the car totally buck naked?

The wash of air as the door opened proved that they did.

 

 

His Fist

finally! my muse has returned from her vacation and I’m flooded with ideas. Some new things, and the finale of the Crystal Dragon story….all things in good time, I guess. Thanks, muse! ~nilla~

His fist, in her hair, pulls her up–down–up the length of his rigid cock. She would recoil, if she could, from the intense scent of piss hiding in the curly, rough, tickly hair where her nose is buried, when his thickness is full in her throat. She can’t swallow, can’t breathe, can’t control the pace of her mouth as he uses her.

He pulls away.

His fist, one on each tit, holds her firmly against the bed, his cock seeking her other warm and wet hole. His thighs spread her legs as he spears deep. She would have arched, if she could, into that fierce thrust, glorying in it, if his fingers, biting into her tender breasts, weren’t holding her in place.

He pulls out.

His fist, gripping around his swollen shaft, pumps steadily. His fingers slide slickly on the pussy-wetted hardness. His eyes are closed, hers, open. Both heads thrown back, hers in teary want, his in joyful denial. The scent of her needy cunt rises to his nose, pushing the flood of semen from the thickness he holds inches from her, spurts across her belly, spurts up to her bruise-marked tits, spurts until there is nothing left but his gasping breath.

He lets go.

Falling onto the bed, onto her, his body rubs his seed into their skin, then rolls to lay beside her. His fist in her hair guides her mouth to the first spot of cum on his chest. Her tongue works across his flesh, down his body, settles finally on his cock.

His fist, in her hair, pulls her up–down–up the length of his rigid cock to begin the dance again.