“Put That Leg Down!!”

I want to tell you every detail. I want to hold it all close to me and keep it private. Such is the quandary of a sex blogger! We have a good fucking time and want to brag about share it, yet it is also SUCH an intense experience that sharing it seems too personal, too private. 

Yet this IS what I do. (You know, since I hadn’t had much inspiration for writing fiction lately!) So here’s another snapshot of our time together. 

I was blindfolded. I have a love hate relationship with it, that blindfold. I want to see what’s coming at me…yet I love the “fear-turn-on” of not knowing. He taps my thighs, my calves with the fucking cane. I sincerely hate that fucking thing. Yet when it hits my tits?  It makes me fly…so deep into subspace that I can’t think. And here I was, worried that I couldn’t handle the pain, that I’d “fail”…right. There is no “I can handle it”–That’s just not how this D/s dynamic works.  Rather, it’s “you must take this, slut”.  Such a silly thing for me to worry about (yet worry and fret about it I did…)  Not only did I “take it”…oh now..I took it, and  it was good. And it was right.Aand it was….orgasmic. (That’s the braggy part. Sorry for boorishly bragging. . . . Okay. Not really.) 😀

I even survived that fucking pink brush. Geezuz but I DOUBLE-HATE that thing. Yes, it is even worse than the cane. The pain is…it’s a thin, hot envelope that circles my entire body, then centers deep right where He has just smacked. It throbs. It burns. Hot licks of “fire” swirl around the blow-landing-site. The pain of it steals my breath. It spun me around in a circle as I took that first blow, made a silent “O” of my lips, made Him laugh as I reacted silently but physically to that first blow.

Fucking sadist!

OH, how it hurt.

“Oh, nilla, I know how to help that,” He says…and before I can say no, no…He starts whacking that same spot with the cane. I feel Him bent over behind me, whaling on that same fucking place.

“Gotta.”

“Knock.”

“Down.”

I’m moaning, whimpering. His hand holds me still, not letting me teeter away (blindfolds and 6.5 inch stiletto’s …oh maaan…do not make for a good “getaway” pairing!) from the blows landing one after the other after the other. Short, hard raps against my already screaming flesh.

“The.”

His hand moves quicker, I can hear the ‘swoosh’ of the cane behind me and start keening.

‘owwwwwwwwww!!!!’

“Welts.”

Finally He lets me go and I stand, quivering and near-to tears.

“That helped, right?”

I shake my head, my hand caressing my butt.

“Oh, stop your whining,’ He says, smacking it with His palm…

*lost in a space-time continuum*

And somehow I’m laying over His lap, my ass already throbbing. He sits on the edge of the bed, palm stroking the hot flesh there. The first slap is gentle, nearly a caress, as are the next few, before the hand gets harder, heavier, thuddier. He hits the same. fucking. place.

Again. Repeat. Until I’m pulled out of my reverie and start to squirm.

My back arches as I cum, even as I cry out against the steady thwacking on my butt.

“Put that fucking leg down,” He barks at me, and I’m shifting in my head between pleasure and pain, and the sudden shocking sound of His voice, stern. He stops spanking and I feel the hard kiss of the cane on my calf.

My head pops up from the bed as I wail. OH! Such a different pain. HURTS! Sharp stings, like a line of wasps across the muscle on the back of my leg.

“I said,” He says, His voice stern and firm, “Put your fucking leg down.”

My toes come in contact with the floor and the cane stops. Once more there is the steady thud of His palm on my ass…

butt

 

Much later, days later, He explains. I barely remembered the incident, but he mentions it and it floods back…

“So there I am spanking you, nilla, and I see your heel coming up at me. Not that I mind seeing the heels–not by a long shot–but heading for my head? Not so much.”

oh.

*silent giggles* 

 

All’s Busy on the Eastern Front

I’m certainly not inundating your “in box” with lots of posts of late, am I? Between my kids, my gardens and familial responsibilities, it seems my time to be here has been greatly dwindling. But I am working on a wee tale, and needing to work on chapters to stories already begun. . . trying to carve out time this week for a major writing binge. 😀

Master and I are hoping that we can hook up in a few weeks. The maturation of my teen means less treks into the city to get to see one another. Finding time in the summer is a challenge for us both, actually. I know that it will make the time we DO get all the sweeter. You know…when it finally happens and all.

But …

I’m losing my pain mojo. Can one do that?

I  had to bow to the fates yesterday and had to text Him that there was no way I could get away and besides I didn’t want to hold HIM up in His schedule waiting for me (good thing too as I never did get the free time I was hoping for, thanks to an unexpected drop in by good friends). As a reward for that selfless act, He gave me an O.

It was a good O, too. I was going to put it in the bank–I was so tired last night. But I couldn’t drop off the edge into sleep, too keyed up. Having an orgasm after days and days of NOT having one can either be super powerful tsunami…or dud.

Last night was a tsunami…but let me back up a bit.

I took out my toys, arranging them carefully on the bed. I should add in here that my favorite vibe died last Tuesday…I was PISSED as it was only a month old, dang it. I have a Hitachi but I’ve never been able to orgasm with it–it’s just toooooooo powerful and I would have to pull it away because the sensation was overwhelming.

I put a peg on my nipple. Not the pretty one, either, with its tender bite. No, this was one of my OLD clothspins…and the bite on this fucker is only a few steps down from my clamps. And it hurt.

A lot.

A ton.

A MOUNTAIN of hurt.

I’m just that out of practice.

And i had this fleeting thought of “OMG” …how could I stand having a playdate if I couldn’t even take the bite of a fucking clothes pin??

(no answers for that yet, btw)

I tried using my back up vibe–but it wasn’t quite right. I needed more…better…something.

In desperation I reached for the Hitachi, knowing I was likely doomed to disappointment. Instead…this:

20140622_234747a tsnumai…see? It was the most *incredible* orgasm I’ve had except for being with Him.

Ba-BOOM!

But the pain thing…yeap…that has me a bit worried. A bit. I’m SURE He will correct my mojo…

(kinda looking forward to that sort of ‘correcting’ yanno?)

 

Out of My Head

We met. Ate. Talked. Teased. Played with stickers. (He won…tho I did score one on his sternum… 🙂  )

I’m foggy with pain this morning. Thoughts disjointed. Laying low. Throb in my pussy.

(whispering as His hand moves against my pussy again…’nooo…hurts…oh…Master…OHH…!” as I cum, squirting into His hand…)

My ass, throbbing.

(come here nilla. He points to the floor between His legs, then a curving gesture. Up. Over His knees.)

My tits ache.

(mmmm NIPPLES! *sounds of biting and hard sucking*)

My body aches.

(pinches and name that implement and slaps and who knows what else?)

And my heart is filled to overflowing, even as my brain works to process what happened yesterday.

‘sall good, pervie friends.

Slut on Call (4)

His hands stroked over her bottom. Somehow he’d flipped her over, when she had been limp and fight-less after cumming for what felt like hours. The slap of his palm on her flesh made her jump, gurgling out a cry against his pillow.

“Your ass. Sweet.” His hand cupped the round smiles, then a single finger slid from the top of the divide, down, down, and down until the digit rested against her anus. It was clenched tight. He felt the resistance. He slapped her butt again. A slight rise of the hips, a grunt. Another blow, another rise of the bottom against his finger. Hard to tell if it was surprise, or her body so stimulated that all sensation was overwhelming.

He very much enjoyed overwhelming her.

The finger slid further, wetting itself in the slickness that wept from her pussy in a constant river. It twisted into her cunt, rubbing against that spot that no one had ever touched before. Hips rolled as he cajoled another orgasm from her.

While the paroxysms boiled in her blood, he pierced her ass with the slippery digit. Sliding his lubed finger in and out of her butthole, he twisted and wriggled it. She moaned. She whimpered, and while he watched, she spurted even more juice.

She was one horny fucking bitch!

“pppleasee”

She didn’t know what she was even asking for now. Please stop? or Please never stop? The sensations were overwhelming. Forgotten was her empty stomach. Forgotten was the mail she’d brought to him. Forgotten was everything except for the sensations pouring through her body. Every wiggle pressed him deeper.

And then a second finger joined the first. Her gasp of surprise was expected. As was the deep moan when a third stretched her wide.  He fucked her ass hard then, pressing the three digits palm-deep into her butt, his cock throbbing like a fucking toothache. A steady drool of precum leaked from him, and he knew he had to be inside her now or he’d squirt all over the sexy bottom in front of him.

His fingers slid out to her moan. His cock pressed in, immediately. She stiffened, but her ass had been broached before she could stop him. Lubed by her own cum, and his, he slid balls deep in seconds. Her head fell forward, after rearing back. He took a fistful of hair, pulling it back so he could watch her face as he slid out, then back. Her anus clenched around his shaft, milking him. He breathed shallowly, using every trick he’d ever learned to hold it off. He imagined his feet in ice water, his balls in the ocean, his mom walking into the room.

The firey need to cum boiled through him.

Slamming into her ass, he yanked her hair back, hard, making her spine arch, a beautiful and inviting curve, lifting her buttocks high, inviting his infernal probing of her nether regions. Eyes half-closed, her mouth open, his eyes traced all the round curves of her, cheek, spine, lips, ass, hip. He listen to the raw raggedness of her breathing, exciting him, adding more fuel for his internal fire. He felt her cunt convulsing, knew the slut was cumming.

Again.

His balls threatened to explode. The combination of heat and sexual submission, the curves and softness, the strength and wanton arousal…all assaulting his control.

“Oh PLEASE!”

Her scream as she jetted a geyser onto his thighs startled him for a moment, pressing him deep into her butt, his balls saturated by her squirting fluid.

“You fucking whore! You sprayed your cunt-juice on my balls!” He laughed, teeth clenched. No slut had ever done that before.  He needed to cum. She was draining his control one yelp at a time, one powerful orgasm at a time.

“You’ll have to clean that up. Later.”

Twisting his hips, feeling the grab at the base of his cock, her anus sucking on his root, he could hold back no longer. Her hair slid from his grasp as he reached for her hips. He withdrew an inch, then rammed deeper, pulsing and filling her buttpipe with his jism.

With a final pulse, he fell forward, lying atop her back.

“Sweet fucking whore.” His words whispered against the back of her neck. Her hair was sweat-soaked, and clung to the roughness of his beard as he nuzzled there. He wanted to bite, to possess. Instead, he licked, tasting the salty tang of her.

His fingers found her tits, and grabbed them, clutching tightly, as they both fell into a totally depleted slumber.

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

Today is THE day. You know…500,000 Day. Half a million. As of writing this at 1030 Monday night, there are less than 200 view to go. Who will be lucky 500,000? Exciting day ahead!! *grinning hugely* ~ nilla ~

Cum

It didn’t start with that word in the title.

As in all good stories, there is a beginning, a middle, and an end.  And in true nilla fashion, I’m going to start near the end.

You know, because I can.

“Get on your knees.”

His voice was firm, husky.

“You got yours, now I’m going to get mine.”

My bed is low to the ground. I’ve been on my back, on my belly, leaned over the edge of it…and after several wicked and intense orgasms, was more than a little spaced.

Which way was “off the bed” anyway? Blindfolded, I was lost in a darkness of soft velvety feelings. My body was tingling. There’d been a few good solid whacks with my nemesis, and His hands, and pinching and all those O’s…

His hand took my arm, guiding me.

We are, neither of us, young and nubile. The idea of being thrown to the floor that I read about in other’s blogs, of being drug around the floor by His fist in my hair? That is definitely off the table. I won’t say I flopped on my way down, but it was definitely not elegant, either. Sure, He’ll guide me by His hand in my hair, or tug me and shove me against the wall if we’re in a hotel…but…well, as I said, neither of us are spring chickens.

Still, He firmly guides me to the floor. At the start of things, He’d “taken my hands away”… cuffed and fastened to matching cuffs on my thighs…there was no way to use them to get off that damned bed, nor was there help in holding position, nor in touching or stroking Master’s cock. His legs are strong, and warm, and I use them to find my target, crawling around a bit to find the right place. I can only imagine the smile as He sat there and watched me try to find His cock without my hands, using only my head and mouth to ‘feel’ where I was.

He says nothing. A moan, a grunt, a tug of my hair.

A bit later, He begins the joking that I wrote of in yesterday’s post, written as I was still deeply enthralled in euphoria. The predicament bondage of His hands, my tits, His cock.

Jz wrote about men liking the gag thing as we suck, choke, throw up a little (yeah. Just a little. I hate that part–and me with a belly full of Chinese food.) HE seemed to enjoy that as well.

And later, when He came, His juice filling my mouth, the taste and pleasure of making Him cum with just my mouth? Only added to my euphoria. I love cumming, make no mistake. I love when He pleasures/pains me. When He drains my body.

Even more?

I love pleasing Him.

And in that moment we were both totally sated.

 

Sweet? Did I call my Sadist sweet?

I did.

I know–I did it earlier this week.

And while we’ve not been super-active in the D/s world…today He’s just been delighted to taunt me that I can’t have an O today. I finally, after two weeks, got an O for Tuesday night.

It would have been great except that I was exhausted, stayed up too late, and fell fast asleep. I’m allowed to “bank” these O’s, which I did.

And PROMPTLY used it Wednesday night. A bang. An explosive bang. Still tired, but man, my pussy was doing the Watusi. (It’s a dance. If you’re too young to know it, google it.) A giant squirt, a trembling, shaking slut, totally blown away by the orgasmic force. I think even my eyelashes fainted.

Do you know what happens to a cunt that has been touch deprived for, oh, say two weeks, and then it has a wonderful orgasmic session? It gets stroked and played with and teased and the whole experience is just so damned good–and it quivers with delight for the attention.

And after the explosion?

It stays horny.

Alive.

Wanton.

Wet.

Yes.

That has been the status of my pussy all day today. But Thursday is NO touching day. Only longing for it, only needing it, only wanting it so fucking bad…

Nothing else.

He reminded me right off what day it was–with a Sadistic twist.

you might as well get it through your slut head that you’ll be o-less for the next 40 hours, not just today. too bad for you. happy Me.

That’s a paraphrase, but it’s pretty close to the original. And He was so fucking joyful whenever He texted me. I told Him I was terribly horny.

He grinned back at me.

I told Him I was really, really needy today.

“You’re needy every day. This is really making me happy, though.”

I called Him a Bastard, yet He likes that. He made some other observation about me stamping my foot, or carrying on. Which I wasn’t doing but was close to it.

“This is the best thing that’s happened in My day.”

Didn’t I just write that He was sweet? How quickly I forget the Sadist lurking just underneath the surface, just looking for a way to get to me.

The best part is, of course, that I like it. Even when I don’t. Exactly. Kinda. Sorta.

Aren’t we submissive sluts just the *strangest* of people? Yeah, we are. 🙂

I’ve long ago made my peace with the whole “why do I want Him to deprive me of that which I crave”…I’ve always craved it, that sort of control, and He gets to me perfectly. Keeping me on the edge, keeping me needy, fulfilling both our needs.

That is part of the sweetness, for me at least. That He gives me what I’ve always wanted–to be controlled sexually. To hold my pussy in His hand, well, virtually at least, and be able to close that (metaphoric) hand and say “nope, not tonight. Your pussy is closed.”

It’s what drew me to BDSM in the first place, that someone could/would want to give that much control to another person, especially a person who would also hurt them. You know. Like biting. Or spanking. Or caning. Or pinching. Or paddling.

Pretty much, all the good stuff.

I’ve grown so accustomed to the idea of it that it doesn’t phase me that much, the dichotomy of being deeply cared for, and also beaten. I don’t have to worry about my needs being met because He meets them perfectly. He knows me, from the inside out, it seems.

Sweet, indeed.

Bound for Trouble (a Fireman Story)

She twisted and turned, trying to free her wrists. Her fingers were growing numb from being tied over her head for so long. In the darkness of her closet, her phone blinked on, vibrated her “times up” signal.

For the third time.

Somehow her “fail-safe” had not worked. If a fail safe failed, was it a failure? Her mind twisted the riddle that wasn’t a riddle at all. Maybe she was losing her mind? She shook her head, feeling her long hair sticking  and tickling her back. It was hot in the closet. Her body was hot from the series of orgasms she’d had, and continued to have. The big vibe taped in her pussy rumbled on and on. Too bad she’d put brand new batteries in it before trying this self-bondage thing.

The knot that tied her wrists to the closet bar above her was supposed to be tug-breakable. She’d practiced and practiced before she ever tied it around her wrists. Except that in reality?

It fucking wasn’t tuggable. Breakable. Even remotely release-able.

Her legs throbbed in the 6 inch spike heels, her tits throbbed, wrapped tightly with the heavy elastics she’d affixed there. Her nipples screamed under the pressure of her swollen tits, and the clothes pins biting into them.

She was a fucking mess.

Panic threatened. She lived alone. No one would even look for her until maybe Monday if she didn’t show up at work. It was fucking Friday night, maybe early Saturday. She could not reach her phone, the frigging thing had slid back along the shelf above her when she had tried to turn off her alarm.

She should have been “done” 15 minutes ago–but she wasn’t in danger, her rational mind tried to tell her panicked brain. The closet wasn’t airtight. The sharp cramping of her cunt pushed past logic and fear.

Her right leg rose, drawing tight against her other thigh, and she bore down through the paroxysms of another orgasm. Hanging limply from her wrists, she panted through the aftershocks. The hot wetness coursed down her inner legs, and the sweet scent of pussy juice filled the small space.

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

How much time had passed?

She was groggy, exhausted from orgasms. Her legs trembled and she began to worry that she would permanently damage her tits. The tears came, hard and fast. Moving in panic, she banged against the upper shelf. Her phone tumbled to the floor, banging her arm and the top of her foot, which is likely what kept it from coming apart when it landed.

“Fuuuuckk” she moaned.

The face of the phone lit up.

“Oh! Gawd! OH!”

Carefully, slowly, gently, she pressed speed-dial with the pencil-thin heel of her shoe. Hopefully Sherry would be home. The phone went right to voice mail. She disconnected, not sure how much charge was left.  The buzzing in her pussy persisted, making her moan and whimper.

911.

That seemed to be her only option.

Wait…she could call Maria. Her neighbor was an early riser, so perhaps she’d be able to help. It would be incredibly embarrassing. But at least she’d be alive.

What was Maria’s number? Had she speed dialed her? Eyes closed, head back, she thought about it for a minute. Maria’s apartment number was 31…perhaps she’d been that logical. She pushed the numbers.

She could hear the ringing. And ringing…and a voice. Too tinny and far away to hear clearly…but a voice of a person!

“Maria! It’s Stacy from next door, in 33! I…I…I’m locked in my closet. It’s embarrassing, but I’m stuck and *ogawd*…please…help me? My keycode is 3963. Please…hurry.”

There was  click and her phone went dark.

Had the full message gotten through? The orgasm slapped into her body, drawing the last of her strength,  leaving her hanging limply by her wrists. Her head hung low, hair plastered to her face, her back with sweat and snot and tears.  Her entire body throbbed, her cunt dripped. The closet stunk of sex.

The door flew open.  She let out  a squeak of surprise, yet the quick burst of fresh air almost made her cry for joy. Yet–it was not Maria who stood there.

It was a man. In the seconds she looked at him, she saw a very muscled, handsomely put together man. When he saw her, his mouth drew into a straight firm line, and his eyes blazed.

“You stupid….”

In moments her hands were free, and he was carrying her over to her bed.

“You could have damaged these…”

His large fingers worked carefully to remove the clothes pins, then the elastics binding her swollen tits.

“This is going to hurt like fuck-all,” he continued. In moments both breasts were free and the pain was excruciating. His hands engulfed her breasts, rubbing and kneading.

She moaned, whimpered, tried to get away. He slapped her hand when she grabbed his wrist.

“Enough, slut. I know what I’m doing here.”

His eyes bored into hers. Her hand fell to her side, drawn up into a tight fist as the embers of pain burned through her. Hurt. Hurt so fucking much.

She might have fainted from the pain. When next she became aware, she was covered lightly with a sheet. Her shoes were off, the bindings on her wrists were gone, her tits, though still sore, no longer felt as though they were going to explode.

She heard noises from the kitchen.

Who was that guy? Where was Maria?

Slowly she rose from the bed. She rummaged in her drawer for a long tee-shirt, then padded out of the bedroom.  He was every bit as large as she remembered. Tall, broad-shouldered, his hands now worked at breaking eggs into a sputtering pan.

“You rescued me and now you cook?”

“You interrupted my breakfast. How do you feel?”

She blushed, remembering that he had seen her tits engorged, the heels–all of it. The look he shot her, as he looked at her flushed face, her lowered eyes, was somewhat amused.

“I’ve seen it all before. Worked in a dungeon after high school. And let me tell you, slut–that is about the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do to try to get a sex-high.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m Maria’s brother. She’s on a cruise, and she asked me to take care of her cats. We got a late call Thursday, and I was wiped out, so I decided to crash at her place. Lucky for you.”

“A late call? What are you?”

“Apparently, I’m the Dom who’s going to teach you a serious lesson about self bondage. No more, slut. Never again. No sex-high is worth dying over. And I’m a fireman. I’m used to putting out fires…and baby? You were burning up.”

It occurred to her that the vibe was no longer in her pussy. Her hand moved involuntarily to her crotch.

He laughed.

“Worry not…I peeled that tape of most carefully.  Cleaned you up. You cum like a New York City fire boat!”

She blushed.

And giggled.

And gasped, as he turned off the eggs, and in a swift move, stepped up to her and grabbed a fistful of hair.

“Never again, slut. Am I clear on this?”

Her pussy did a little ‘omg’ dance, her heart beat fast, and she bit her lip, just like that silly girl in the grey books.  It was hard to nod ‘yes’ with his hand buried in her hair this way.

But she managed it.

And a soft “yes, Sir” sealed the deal.

Under the Sheets

for andi, whose “random” picture here inspired this bit of fantasy…~nilla~

He took her by her hair, tugging her face to the bed, exposing her pale bottom…

mmmmm, she moaned, her clit throbbing with a little lurch as she imagined the scene, hair pulling and bottom baring was so thrilling!

….to his gaze, and as she soon discovered, to his hand. The slaps he gave her weren’t all that uncomfortable-but the humiliation of him doing it in the first place, and the slight sting on her ass had her wiggling.

She’d wiggle if her ass was getting hit. She’d done it before. And while she loved the idea, and the actuality of being spanked…she could never keep still on her own. The story she read was so hot, so intense. Her other hand was busy with the vibe she kept on low, pressed against her clit. She wanted to prolong the pleasure, wanted to spin out the fantasy, then close her eyes and let it cum. Her lips curved, bow-shaped, at her double entendre.

Of a sudden, the slaps grew harder, as if the prior blows had only been a warm up. A steady, hard whallop had her squirming in earnest now and her little whimpers became mewlings of pain.

gods…something about that word… “mewlings” ….set her to mind of the animatistic sounds she gave off when being spanked. Whimpers, growls, moans-so unlike her happy-day-to-day self. When she played, she let that part of her-the civilized business woman- fade away, and let the raw and needy whore loose. She needed so hard sometimes that she scared herself. What if she never found the one who answered that need with his own greedy wants and desires?

But for now there were these stories on the internet…her attention drifted back to her monitor as her fingers pushed aside her lower lips, and played the vibe up and down her wetness.

….fingers slid deep and his voice was  a husky, sexual growl when he spoke. “you’re wet. soaked. you filthy little whore. MY filthy whore likes her bottom spanked.”

She moaned, her pussy starting to drool, the hummmmm vibrations making her hips press harder, seeking more. She reread that hot passage–the part where he called her a filthy whore was her secret pleasure.

The IM on her open internet chimed. Eyes half-closed in pleasure, she almost ignored it, but with a growl she clicked from her story to her yahoo.

hey babe, whatcha up 2? was sitting here stroking Mr. Big when I thought of you. wonder if your fingers are buried in your cunt, wet and sticky and needing to be filled with something big, hot, and hard?

It was G, her sometime fuckbuddy. He had such big hands, and an equally big cock.  He was good in bed, varying between rough and forceful, and tender. He wasn’t as much into the D/s scene as she wished he was–but just now he added shape and texture to the story she was reading. Quickly she composed a response:  “G, i am stroking ms puss. she’s wet and sticky as you thought, but you’re not here, so I’m makin do with Black Beauty. He’s purring along my valley….”

It never failed to arouse, sexting. She clicked off IM and returned to the story.

A heavy dull thudding on her bottom made her jolt with shock. The flogger? He’d not flogged her in forever, and his fingers teased at her pussy but only at the outer edges. She pushed back, entreating him to enter her. He responded by flogging her harder.

*chime*

babe,  you know Mr. Big would love to be sliding between your pussy lips, parting them like moses did the  red sea…i’d spread your pink pussy wide, getting all lubed up with your pussy juices . The head of my cock is dripping with precum, and would press deeper between your rosy lips, finding your fuckhole and spearing slowly (o so slo) into it.

She shivered, reading the flogging and G’s IM. She was on fire now, her sheets pushed down by her feet, her thighs spread, head canted back on the pillow so she could read the computer screen. Her cunt was begging to be fucked yet still she held off. There was need, there was desire…and she wanted it to last.

She couldn’t take much more. Shivers raced through her, her thighs wet with her urgent lust.

Gawd she could relate to that! Her sheet below her was wet; she felt the hot sticky goo against her ass as it ran down her sex groove.

“When I fuck you, I will be merciless. You will cum for me..and cum for me…and cum for me. You’ll want to escape the relentlessness of orgasm overload–but you’ll be held here, held tight, until I’m done draining you.

And then I’ll fill your grasping, gasping, greedy pussy with thick ribbons of my jizm, fill you until you’re overflowing with my cum. And when I’m done, you’ll reach down between your soiled, sticky thighs with your greedy fingers, and scoop up our sex sauce, and lick it off.

Dear gawd…

*chime*I want to fuck you, a. I want to grab a fistful of your thick hair, making your back arch and your tits jut. You’ll be on your knees, and I’ll take you hard from behind, like a mare taken by a stallion, like a bitch in heat. Your legs spread wide, your ass up, and your dripping pussy right there for me to look at. And when I’m done looking, touching, opening? My cock will ram deep into your snatch, and your arched back will bow further, take me deeper, invite my invasion. Your mouth will open, your voice will howl, your nipples will be hard jutting pebbles. 

Shaking, she exploded, just from the words. Her vibe lay buzzzzing on the bed, against her thigh as her fingers rubbed madly at her clit. She bucked and whined as the orgasm saturated her sheet, falling back onto her pillows, trembling.

*chime*

*chime*

*chime*

Her phone beeped. It took a minute to realize that her doorbell and her phone were both alerting her.

answer your door a. 

Sex and the Embrace of Pain

There’s been a discussion over at aisha’s blog regarding whether we (we being those on the “/s”  side of the slash 🙂 )  feel we “get enough” …enough sex, enough Dominance…or whether we are satisfied. As I recall, I answered then that really, I have a good balance of what I want, what I need, what He needs. I have a limited capacity for D/s in my life, being as I’m a slut on the side, which has to often take 2nd place to being a wife and mommy.

I loved reading about that. Aisha has a way of breaking down a topic  that explores it candidly, with a lightness of touch that I envy. She guides me to think, explore, and examine my role as a submissive.

The funny thing is, despite saying I’m content with how D/s plays out in my life, I always feel like an insatiable bitch. One of the things I’ve noted is that I may not feel “as sexual” if there’s been a few days without orgasms…but that Master stirs the pot, adds a bit of this, a dash of that…and it seems to ramp up the sex need for me, despite the lack of saity. It’s rare for me to feel “nothing” sexually, though you know it’s happened from time to time. Of course, if He’s upset with me, that is a true lust killer…but that so rarely happens.

Last week I had occasion to have two orgasms back to back (rare)…and the first one came so quickly…and the second one too, I remember laying there saying “what? REALLY?”….was my body so in need of release that it just blew up like that? Apparently!

Some of what Master feeds me is pain. I’m a masochist, remember, and pain makes me so fucking slutty…

And we’ve had these conversations before about toe-stubbing and whether that can make us horny…it has, several times for me, actually.

The other night at work, a door shut on me, the pull lever slamming into the back of my shoulder so hard I saw stars. It hit me *exactly* where Master had popped me 6 weeks ago…and along with the rush of pain was a rush of turn on. It was true, when I got home from work, that there was a sticky puddle in my panties.  The orgasm I got to have that night was fierce…He fed me TONS of pain…pleasure-pain from the vibe being on High…and pain from the nipple clamps with weights…and pain from many clothespins on my belly.

I craved the pain, needing some sort of focus to work through my emotional mire. Prior to talking to him, I CRAVED something. I didn’t let myself eat, and I don’t have alcohol in the house…though I briefly considered going to get some wine, I opted not to since I had to work a LONG shift on Saturday. Not a good day to have a hangover…and drinking was hiding from the emotions we’ve all been reeling from.

He focused me.

He fed me pain.  LOTS of pain, He emphasized to me. He knew what, exactly, to do to me to push me through the emotional mire I was stuck in. The orgasm itself is barely remembered. It was fast and hard…and it gave me the release I needed.

I fell fast asleep after my toys were away, and slept through the night. Remember I said earlier that He did little things to keep me focused, to keep me on edge when I’m in orgasm lock-down?

Tonight He was kind enough to give me another Orgasm…with lots of pain like last night. But He slipped me a small gift as we parted ways in front of our Starbucks. I recognized the little portable data device…I’d just bought one myself the other day for photo storage.

I knew what was on it.

My video’s.

The ones He took when Sir P and I were fucking. When I was sucking that too-big dick of his. When I was serving Master by servicing another Dom. *blushes*

I called Him later Saturday night, and He put some parameters around my watching these videos…no more than three a night, He said, or else I’d become *too* horny, and He didn’t think that was safe for the world.

You know, like Noah’s ark, ‘cept with pussy honey.

🙂

Where am I going with this? Who knows…I’m intrigued, I guess. That pain, something I used to fear, can apparently be transmuted into a source of pleasure. It hurts, don’t get me wrong. There’s a big-assed lump on my shoulder, and tonight I walked backwards into a door banging the other shoulder. I know, it takes talent to do these sorts of things. Trust me, I’m overloaded in the klutz talent department. But once more, my pussy is throbbing softly and ready for some action. Which reminds me, I need to go grab my clamps, my weights, and get some torture started here! It’s expected, it’s what my body is craving.

And of course, it’s been “special ordered” by the Man….no UPS driver  required. Batteries, however, are included.

*laugh*

 

Hump

i wrote this way back in June, and for whatever reason, never published it. It’s a wee snippet from a playdate with Master, way back when the summer breezes were blowing, and things were hot and full and ….(yeah, I’m not talking about the summer anymore, am i? *grin*)…

It was late in the day, but I wasn’t ready to stop. We’d had a bit of a breather, a bit of some refreshing sports drink to try to re-hydrate a little bit. We were laying twined together, likely He was poking or pinching some part of me.

I remember a wave of horny just flowing over and through me.

It was intense and incredible. I pressed the junction of my thighs against his lower leg. His hairy, thick, strong leg.

“What? What? Are you humping my leg?”

I giggle. Totally busted, I laugh and nod.

“Well, get on then, and do something with it.”

I think He likes to see me that totally desperate. Humping and writhing against his flesh, grinding my throbbing clit where the bone passes close to the surface; the hardness makes me yearn all the more.

I’m almost there…panting, head drooping, sliding up and down his lower leg.

“You’re not going to cum on me, are you?”

I nod frantically, and make mewling noises.

“Ewwww,” He says, “Pussy slime on my leg!” And I giggle and start to lose the almost-ready-to-cum. Whining a bit, I’m slowing down, tiring fast.

Then out of the blue He says, in this curious, musing tone…. “All of the chairs in your house must have very skinny legs!”

And I fall over to my side, and give into the hysterical laughter.  I lay there, tangled in my own hair, feeling the weight of his large hand on my head as I absolutely convulse in amusement. I’m not just giggling, not mere laughter, but gut-wrenching deep guffaws that drain me completely, accompanied by laughter tears.

Killed my orgasm with laughter…wiley Man. (He was laughing almost as hard as I was, I should add.)

A bit later, after we’d recovered some semblance of decorum, I tried to get up. He would not let me.  Silly slut…I thought pussy was done, she was tender, swollen. Definitely done.

He was not done.

And that’s all that really matters, right? He pinned me so that I couldn’t move an inch…hair pegged under His shoulder, His strong leg over mine, holding me open and pussy accessible. He pinched my nipple, then the other, then His fingers slipped lower. I tossed my head no, no…moaning. His mouth over mine, kissing me, shushing me, taking my struggle into Him.

He parted my lower lips, squeezing my clit, drawing more moans from my mouth, into His. Writhing, trying to get away, there was no place to go. His fingers pressed on, moving deeper into my cleft, hurting, and turning me on. So sore from an intense day of fucking and beatings. So swollen from so many orgasms.

“You’re wet. Soaked. You slut.” He whispers into my ear as His fingers find my opening and begin to glide inside of me. Soft, gentle but insistent, He is suddenly inside me, his big fingers filling me. It hurts so, my flesh is so tender inside, outside…and yet, with the pain is a growing need. My hips roll, seemingly of their own accord, urging Him to come deeper inside me.

“Whore,” He whispers, then takes my mouth in a savage kiss, swallowing my groans as He suddenly fucks me mercilessly hard, curling His fingers inside me, hitting all those tender trigger spots. The orgasm roars through me ~ a tsunami of sensation ~ and still he fucks me brutally.

“There’s more there, I know it,” He growls against my ear. “you’re not done yet, slut,” and He pummels my pussy.

I cum again, harder than the first time, squirting effusively on His hand, the bed, my legs. And still He fucks, His voice whispering “more” and driving me wild.

The last orgasm, harder and wetter than all the others, clamps down on His hand, muscles locked in a paroxysm of overwhelmed sensation as I go rigid in the throes of wild release.

I wake slowly, disoriented. I’m speaking in tongues, He tells me later, one of His favorite parts. Driving me to the point where I am insensate, can no longer think/protest/fight/speak is, I think, His ultimate goal.

He won, again.

Then again…so did I.

🙂