Tied into Submission

I –for all that I want it–haven’t been very submissive. We talk like friends, he and I, with laughter and teasing. We’re not in a rut, but both of us realize that the tasking and rules of times gone by don’t seem to be a part of our current dynamic.

It’s fine, really. I’m busy. He’s busy.

But it leaves me feeling nervous for playtime. Can I submit? Do I want to submit? Do I want the pain? Can I take it? This, after 8 1/2 years. *wry grin* Yeah. Still to question if I can.

But he is wise in the ways of nilla, and circumvents all that. He physically overpowers me, first off. He uses that tone of voice, and there is nothing I can do but obey. (And yes, he’s not asking me to kill someone in the next room…I’m talking playime here, not falling into the throws of Stockholm syndrome!) He touches me, sometimes softly, sometimes harshly and I hold my breath waiting for which it will be.

He cuffs my wrists to my thighs, then later rigs this system where I am further secured to crossed lines in the middle of the bed. I literally can. Not. Move. My legs won’t fully close, my hands are useless, and I’m existing only for his pleasure.

When he notes this he is quite pleased with himself, and sets to pinching my ass and swatting it. He uses his hands and that blasted olive wood spoon I gave him. It hurts and I’m whimpering and humping my ass up and down the 2 inches it’ll move…and he laughs.

I can’t get away.

I *must* submit to him, to whatever he’s got planned in his devious mind. I come a million times. He finger fucks me, and torments with my Hitachi. (OMFG, OMFG). I whimper and cry and beg.

He ignores me.

(Maybe he laughs, too. I can’t remember huge chunks of that time, other than the Hitachi and orgasms and trying to breathe.)

And I realize, as I lay there unable to defend myself, unable to stop him, that while he forced my submission, I am now wholeheartedly giving it up to him.

Take me.

Fuck me.

Use me.

Hurt me.

Until I’m floating, I’m happy, I’m hurting.

By taking my body, he has freed my mind.




“Please, Sir, may I cum?”

She was so close. That close. Hanging there, right on the edge of orgasm as his fingers slipped and twisted inside her pussy. Her hips undulated on the bed, waves of need rolling palpably from her pleading body. Though she couldn’t see him, damn the blindfold, she felt the loss as he moved away from the open Y of her legs.

“I think…not quite yet, pet,” he said, his tone seeming both regretful and amused. She whimpered low in her throat. She felt him wiping his fingers along her inner thigh. There was a rush of cooler air against her splayed-apart crotch as he left her.  From across the room there were curious noises where she knew he kept his ‘toys’…if one could call such weapons ‘toys’. The innocuous word always made her grin just a little bit, even as she shivered at what they did to her.

Her body began to cool, the vicious heat from the near-orgasm fading, but not completely. Her throbbing pussy calmed, her hips became quiescent on the bed. The rapid thumping of her pulse–in her clit, in her throat, between her breasts–slowed. She jolted even before she became fully aware of the sharp snap against her cunt.


Nothing followed. Unable to close her legs, her knees swiveled in place, trying to soothe the ache along her vulnerable slit. The sound was nearly as fierce as the blow, the sharp snap of the mysterious object striking her tender, wet flesh. Beneath the sting of hurt grew a desperate hunger. The clitoris responded, swelling full, throbbing insistently. A steady trail of silvered dew wept from her lower lips.

“Owwwww,” she moaned, her knees jerking as another blow caused her to gasp and try to pull away. The ropes held her there, open to his depredations.

“I….” she gasped, as the sensations began to swamp her, “…I need to cum, Sir, please Sir!”

Once more the soft sounds of his footfalls came to her. He was moving away…again.

“No, slut, not just now,” he replied, his tone sounding disinterested, the bastard!

It took longer for the sensations to settle, the level of need growing. She held steady, her arousal a sharp scent in her nose and a heated throb in her loins. She lay there, open, waiting, hoping for him to return. There was only silence in the room; she could hear nothing over the roar of need in her ears.

“Please?” she begged into the quiet room.

“Please? For what are you asking slut?”

She heard the slyness there, felt the trap closing around her. He had told her he would make her beg, make her plead, make her cry for her release. She’d not believed him then.

She believed him now.




…I forget how much pain really hurts.

I know. It sounds stupid when you say it aloud, doesn’t it?  (If you’re submissive, I’ll bet you dollars to donuts that you “grok”, right?)

We managed to eke out a small face time today…so deeply needed. He was fun and flirty and dirty and mean..and he smelled good, and his arms wound so tight around me, hugging, and then a sweetly tender kiss right there in the parking lot of the place we meet. We chat, and laugh and I try to assault his man nipples, and he gives me the stern look, followed by   “nilla, take your hands off my nips.” You know the Look, right? I think every Dom must have one. It’s the stern “don’t fuck with me, slut” look that makes my hands fall to my sides, and also makes me giggle nervously. Yup, that look. I’ve never quite been brave (foolhardy?) enough to actually disobey him on that, despite my somewhat death-defying desire to try it.

Then, doesn’t He trick me?

He did!

Has me show him how the van doors open automatically…I just never think it through, never suspect a thing. So when he asks me to reach that thing on the floor there, and I lean in, He pushes me hard so I fall over the seat and proceeds to pinch my ass! He hides what he’s doing with his body, pretending to reach in, using his voice…’no, that one, yeah, that one over there, yes, that’s the one nilla’, while his other hand does the dirty work. His legs trap me so I can’t move as he leans on them, as I wriggle and squirm and moan and “eep!” when he hits a particularly vulnerable area.  Not content for one pinch, either, but MANY hard little nips with his fingernails. Great Goddess! I came SO close, yes, about that close, to cumming. There is no better feeling in those moments, then of His hands moving roughly over my body. Even though, you know, it hurts.

Oh MAN, did it hurt. 

He can’t pinch my arms, his favorite target, because it’s sleeveless time at last…so he targets my tits, my belly, and now, in this downside-up position, my vulnerable ass. His fingers press into my crack, finding that oh-s0-tender skin there, then biting into all the areas that I sit upon. Yes, I can’t sit without thinking of His hands on my ass…and grow wet and needy for it.

Of course He found my tits, pinching them hard as I slid into my car when it was time for me to go. That man can do a lot of damage in a very short period of time!

Pain hurts when you haven’t had a lot of it…but damn it is so fucking good, too.

Catching my Breath

It’s been  a hectic two weeks since Master and I played. It’s amazing the things that float to the surface even now. Little things, some big things. I remember (now) that He’d forgotten Sir Wolf’s bag of wicked whips (aaawww…*giggle*). It didn’t matter–He was wielding my infamous pink hairbrush as well as one HE has that is for grooming pets…it has wire teeth. He uses it by slapping some portion of my anatomy with some implement, then “scrubbing the welt down”. (insert eyeroll here)

I know. It’s wicked mean, isn’t it?

There was the fist-grab of hair when He kissed me, pinching my arm wickedly. His big hands grabbing my tits and holding me on my toes as I whimper. My shirt half off, and His teeth biting along my shoulder before He slaps my ass, encouraging me to get changed into the sexy stuff.

He popped me a good one on my ass as I’m trying to get dressed. (This after He’d messed me up proper before I even got out of my vanilla stuff.) And another while I’m trying to put on my lipstick. That one got a chuckle out of Him…He’s harassing me with slaps and pinches and saying “hurry up, nilla” and “you’ll never get that on before I–”

and I interrupt Him and throw a dirty look over my shoulder.

“Master.” (I was a tad indignant.) “I’m a girl. I can put lipstick on in a car going 65 miles per hour on a four lane highway, driving with one hand.” (please note I’m not *advocating* doing this! It’s not SAFE (but if you’re a person who wears make-up, you grok!)

He pauses a moment and says “Oh. Right. Forgot about that.”

And without missing a beat, He pops me again. (Not a smudge, peeps, not a smear. Perfect red lips. *buffs nails on chest*)

So those are the little vignettes that are floating to the surface now. We’ve had some face time this weekend past–it’s always nice to have that after a playdate, a check in, which we both need. Afterwards, when we talked Monday evening, He said “It was good to see you on Sunday, nilla.”

(He never says anything like that; it was wicked awesome!)

We’re happy, and talking about our next playtime later in the fall. I will juggle my schedule to make that work. We talked too about pushing the envelope on my behavior. I love to do that.

“I think, nilla,” He says as we talked Monday evening, “that I may wait even longer before I blow on you. See what naughty little things you think you can get away with when you think I’m out of the room.”

Well, that set me back a bit.

“You–you–why, that’s horrible, Master!”

He laughs. We talk some more about how He stalks around me (and I’m oblivious). How He waits, and watches for my little smirky smile to appear. That’s when, in prior play times, He has done the poke, or blow in my ear thing that makes me jump a mile because I think He’s left the room. (He even leaves the water running in the bathroom sink so I think He’s still in there.)

His thought is to stand there, waiting and watching for me be naughty. It is sadism at its best, perhaps. (I love the anticipation, the idea of Him catching me being “bad” (not, mind you, disobedient. If He says “stay” in the Dom voice–I know He fully means it. He leaves room for my mischief, which we BOTH enjoy.) Sometimes I rub my pussy with the hand furthest from the bathroom, to get a little relief (I never, ever cum without Him allowing it while I’m on the wall, however!) Or I might step away from the wall that He’s put me on, or drop my hands, or wiggle my butt, or any of those sort of things. I’m sure He’s seen some of them. (Boy did I get a wicked smack the time He caught me rubbing my pussy last year, as well as a “what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”)

There’s a curious thrill there. Pushing His buttons is dangerous. I’m never sure where the point is that I’ll cross His line in the sand and get nailed for it. I’m never sure where He even IS in the fucking room. Is He right behind me getting His jollies over making me jolt and jump with shock when He blows on my ear or cheek? Or is He really in the bathroom this time?

It’s all part of the thrill. I was going to say game, but it’s not a game is it? It’s fantasy and reality. It’s pain and passion. It’s a thrill ride and a reality check.  It’s fucking awesome, and awesomely painful.



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.


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.

Before W/we Meet

I sent Him a titty pic. I was pinching my nipple and feeling flirty.

He responds that I’m “milking” it…which of course makes me laugh.

I did apologize–“Sorry, I should leave that for You to do.”

“Clamps will do it”

“Oh, I haven’t had much practice with clamps of late.”

I know. I know. Sometimes I amaze myself with my own ability to shoot myself in the foot.

“Put them on tonight–two weights”

I admit I read that one twice. Swallowed hard, then whipped off my reply.

“TWO? On my virgin nipples? More that’s mean.”

“Man…MAN that’s mean…NOT “more”!!! Definitely not more!!”

“What – you want more – what a trooper”

We exchanged a few more texts, and then this one stopped me cold.

“OK – stick to the clamps and weights; BTW – this means no O tonight; can’t interfere with pain.”

“GASP! OMG that’s mean. Uber-mean.”

“Nah, just wait until after Like Day….”


He definitely ramps things up before a meet, yet this was unexpected. And I had decided to NOT have an O last night, thinking I could have one tonight (Monday). I always get an O on Tuesday (Like Day…because He does like me!)

On the way home from work I called Him, thinking I wouldn’t even reach Him since it was earlier than usual…but hell if He didn’t answer AND issue one further edict.

“If you write tonight…and I know you’ll write tonight nilla….you wear those clamps, you hear? I want to picture them hanging down, pulling your nipples, making you feel.”

So here I sit, writing. The weights on the clamps didn’t feel so bad in my hand, but after 20 minutes on my nipples, pulling them down to my toes (or so it feels)? OH, yes. I feel them. And I’m turned on as hell. And I can’t touch, can’t orgasm, just have to…hang here. With my nipples being pulled to the floor. And Him 40 miles away, yet oh, so close as I feel the burning pain that He fed me.

And when I go to bed, and say my prayers, I’ll add a note to the goddess that I hope it doesn’t snow late on Saturday so that I get to spend some real quality time with the sadist who hurts me so good, from so far away.

Pink Brush

The wall was cool against my aching tits. My forehead was pressed tight, the way He likes, my feet aching a bit now, in my high, high heels.

I felt incredibly sexy.

My tits loose from my clothing, my nipples caught in the grip of the clamps, the heavy chain swinging, pendulous, from them. If I moved, they scraped the wall, or clattered against it. A sexy sound.

Don’t let anyone tell YOU that you aren’t sexy because you’re a certain size. Even carrying more weight than I’m really happy with, He made me feel wanted, wanton.

He was moving around the room in that way He has, making noise only when He wanted me to know where He was. I forget what I was doing there, waving my hand out in space, thinking He was in the bathroom, swinging my hips, waving my fat butt around…being silly nilla.

He blew in my ear and scared the *fuck* right outta me!

I shrieked, and jumped a mile.

“Head on the fucking wall, nilla,” He growls, His voice so sexy when He talks that way to me. Not just the swearing, but the intimidation factor. Hot. Hawt. Hawt! His hand presses my head onto the wall in a quick swat, but I’m already there, thank heaven. (I did get a little forehead bruise from that.) Quickly I slap my palms to the wall, before He does something dastardly to them.


I listen for Him.

Soooo hard.

I hear nothing but the pre-football-game commentary on the t.v. The hum of a motor from the bathroom fan in the wall. Nothing of Him, the sneaky bastard. He’s slick, and mean, and can come up behind me and wale one on my butt without warning. That was around the time that He pulled out one of Wolf’s toys and belted me across the back with it.

Holy fuck on a stick, that hurt!

Tears in my eyes, breath caught in my gut somewhere, tangled with the scream that was trying to get out as the breath was trying to get in.

He loves those moments.

He calls them “You don’t know whether to shit or go blind” moments.

Then He is beside me again. I feel Him there, and then He has moved away. He is very like a cat, I just can’t hear a sound. And from a distance…

“Oh nilla?”

My heart jumps into my throat.

Something in His tone has set my “I’m Prey” alarm onto hyperdrive and I’m fighting the urge to look. To see what is coming next.

“Where’s my little pink friend?”

And I know what He wants.

The night before, as I was packing my things carefully for our adventure, I debated. He had told me what to bring…but He didn’t mention that. Yet,  it is a long, no-longer-spoken-but-understood rule that I must ALWAYS have the Fucking Pink Brush with me for playtime.


Yet, I stood there in front of my mirror, holding it in my hand, squishing the squishable handle in my fingers…and actually debated about putting the fucking thing into my handbag.

It’s terrific at taking out the tangles in my hair post-Master…but it is also such a weapon of ass destruction.

After a long pause I answer Him. He doesn’t interrupt my musing, or tell me to hurry it up, slut, He waits. He does that, that




waiting, until I answer Him.

“It’s in my bag on the bathroom counter,” I say at last my voice a mere whisper.

I hear nothing, not even the sound of a man going through a woman’s handbag. You know how they can be, rooting around like a dog in a garbage can, right? *giggling*

I hear nothing, sense nothing.

Which is why I tried to pass through the wall when He smacked my left ass cheek with the fucking thing.

Because I knew it would take mere seconds for Him to reposition and attack the right side.

I was right.

Two weeks later and I’m still wearing the marks from those two single *BAM*’s on my ass, about the only thing left of our play time, other than wicked memories.

You know I’ll be tracing them with my fingers tonight as I head to bed.

Oh, the way He does me.

Does me so bad…which of course, is soo000 good.


I really *do* hate that fucking pink brush.

I just like the *afterwards* part.

Wonder if there’s a way to skip the OUCH and go straight to the bruise?

Nah, didn’t think so.





Leftie ~ HNT

I’ve been mulling over this…this freaky thing we do…questioning my needs. And then realized I don’t need to justify anything.  Just like I have bright blue eyes, I am kinky. Just like I like chocolate, I like to be beaten. Just as I am…is fine. I’m not hurting anyone. Well, okay, myself, but in a postive way. It feeds me. I am so “clean” inside now. Not stressing, not fretful.


I wouldn’t trade that feeling for all the tea in China.

So, navel-gazing done, I decided to show a wee bit of His handiwork in granting my plea to “please cane my tits hard”.

Happy HNT!


A Cup of Sugar

Hi Pervie Peeps!  The last day of work at my “old” job is now a memory. The gals I work with threw me a surprise goodbye party, which was lovely!! Nothing beats chocolate cake for lunch. 🙂 I am a happy, happy woman. One more HUGE event to go and suddenly my life opens up again. I’m busy with my little business, but that’s all to the good.

I managed to  ‘squeeze’ in some time with Master after work. It was so good to see/touch/taste Him. Kisses and tongue at Starbucks. (nom nom nom) He smells so damned good. I could smell His scent on me while I was driving home, which made me smile. 

And as to this sordid little tale?

I’d thought I’d finished this story last week and set it to publish on Saturday, but alas, didn’t. I hope you enjoy this little nugget of sexy badness.  ~nilla~

She wondered if she had known, somewhere in that animal part of her brain. And if, by that knowing, was how she had wound up here, tied to a wall in a soundproof room. Had it been his eyes, calling forth secrets she’d left buried as unfulfillable? Had it been in that mysterious half-smile he’d flashed at her whenever she’d greeted him from across her driveway?

The whip slashed across her ass and her body tensed, the shriek mostly contained behind the hard rubber ball lodged behind her teeth. The gag was tight, the metal edges biting into the sides of her tender lips. Her fingers drew into claws, scratching at the rough wall, tugging at the restraints that bound her against the cold concrete. Her nipples rubbed against that raw surface, rising into hard pebbles.

There was a scraping behind her, a footstep, then a hand, probing between her open thighs.

“Wet. As I imagined.”

Her eyes closed in humiliation. To her shame, she could feel the thick pulsing of her clit. It wasn’t her fault that those stories turned her on. That she read those blogs late at night and fantasized. She would NEVER have the courage to go to one of those clubs, or go dom searching or go on a date to see if the fantasy was like the reality, if the reality would really make her feel the way she did as she pored over the words, wetting her panties day after day.

A quick snap made her gasp, but the blow was in the air, and not on her body.

“Sugar.” His voice was amused. Softer now, his voice barely above a husky whisper. “Do you have a cup of sugar?” The laugh bordered on cruel. “Do you have a cup of sugar?”

Something different struck her hip. Maybe it was a cane. Or a crop. There was no way to know–she’d never felt the kiss of either, and these were taunting blows. She shivered as his lips brushed her ear.

“So innocent…..not. No, that was definitely the most…insincere query I’ve ever heard! I’ve been asked for many things, but sugar has never been one of them. Such a naughty girl. Reading all those dirty things on the internet, and turning your computer so that I could easily see through your bedroom window. You know I’ve been watching you, you know that you’ve been inviting me for weeks. And yet, you come here for sugar.” 

He tut-tut-ed her, his tongue making loud pops of sound behind her, as his hand reached around and pinched her aching nipples. Desire rose as hard and fast as denial.

“But I needed sugar,” she thought, the words rising, but unable to pass the gag to explain to him. She needed to make cookies for the office party. Casey would be leaving tomorrow and she’d promised to bake those coconut cookies everyone adored. She had forgotten that she was out of sugar–living alone, she rarely baked except for the holidays. It was just one–.

Another slap, this one definitely meant business, and all rational thought fled. She arched again, pressing into the wall as if trying to meld her way through it.

So brutal.

So cruel.

So exciting.

One cup of sugar? Perhaps not. But certainly an abundance of ‘honey’.