…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.



“Master, I’d Like You to Meet….

….Mr. Hitachi.”

That’s how I rehearsed how I was going to introduce them, at least. My imaginings never quite match up to His reality. (Imagine that!)

I left it out on the back of the bed (which is against the wall so it couldn’t roll off). It was plugged in and ready to rumble. He started on me the second we got into the room (after having a leisurely and lovely dinner together)–pulling my head back to His shoulder by my hair. Kissing me hard, while squeezing my tit. I think I screamed into His mouth then. I thank the goddess every time we play that He didn’t go into mammography! He throws me onto the bed and is pinching me everywhere. I’m squirming and trying to keep my whimpers down so it doesn’t sound like He is murdering me, but oh! How it hurts (and OH, how good that is, too) as His hands roam over me.

He attacks my toes. I try to curl my toes so that He can’t take the socks off the last bit there, and He laughs.

“Yeah, like that’s going to stop me, nilla,” He chortles.

One hard flick and my sock sails across the room, and His dastardly fingers are tickling my toes…between, underneath, over the sole of my foot…even now that makes my toes curl. I laughed and laughed, the damnedest torture, ever. I’m gasping for breath, and He looks up at me.

“Oh, too much?” He says sweetly. (Don’t you go on immediate alert when that Dom voice gets all sugary?) His hands move, fast as lightning in midsummer, pinching my soft and tender belly, tugging and twisting my nipples (how did He get His hands into my bra that fast?? Years of practice, He says, grinning smugly.) Suddenly giggles are transformed to moans of pain. Back and forth between the two tortures He moves, until my head is spinning.

From far away I hear His voice but in truth I am already half-way gone.

“Whoa ho…well well well, and what is this, nilla?  His voice is filled with glee. “I’d forgotten you said you’d gotten this…”

His voice fades away as He flicks the button on, presses it against His hand. He grunts as He dismisses “low” (the ONLY setting I use, mind you), and flicks it to “HIGH”. And presses it against my pussy.

My pussy was wet and swollen and wanting some action after all the torment from tickling and pinching…but having Mr. H land on her in “HIGH” mode almost made my clit explode.

I yelped (He laughed), and squirmed–but He was laying on my arm and hair and His leg hooked over mine. My other leg dangled off the bed, at such an angle that I couldn’t touch the floor with my toes, nor get good contact to brace my leg enough to cross it over my crotch.

In other words, I was fucked.

He laughed as my first orgasm spurted out of me, shutting off the vibe to feel how wet I was, then immediately flicking it back on. On “HIGH”.

And laughing.


Desire (5)

A whirlwind of sensations swirled through her. The gentleness he’d used before had been replaced by its opposite. Her nipples ached from the pinches, her pussy throbbed from smacks of his heavy hand.

She lusted.

Uncertain as to why her body had awakened so intensely to lust as he had hit her, she could only lay there and burn. He’d left her side after smiling at her with a wicked grin. Across the room, his back to her, she watched him disrobe. The shadows danced with candle light across his back, a perfect metaphor for what was unfolding here. Light and dark, inexorably intertwined.

He’d brought her to the height of sexual need with the pain, and now let it ebb. Except…it wasn’t.  If anything, her desire grew in intensity. She wanted…needed…to be fucked. She doubted she’d ever wanted  more intensely in her life, ever. She watched as he slipped out of his jeans,  nearly drooling at the tight curves of his ass as he bent to remove his socks. The view did  nothing to tamp down the waves of lust building between her thighs. Her nipples were fully erect, painfully erect. She discovered she was almost panting, tugging at her wrists as if she could pull herself free, get herself off.

Her bonds held tight. Her lust was restrained, held at his whim. The words he’d spoken earlier came back to her. “Part of submission is learning to wait. Waiting for my desires, will heighten yours.” She didn’t think she could get any higher.

He turned then, moving towards her. He held a short cane in his teeth, and a golden foil packet in his hands. As he moved, he tore open the condom, slipping it over his rigid shaft easily. Her eyes moved over him, hungry for every detail.

He mounted the bed, and for a moment, his entire body was illuminated for her. Hair arrowed down his lower body, drawing her attention to that which she craved most. Her eyes rose to meet his. He rose up, straddling her, sitting on her lower body. His cock rested on her mons, definitely not where she wanted it. His legs pressed against her and the heat of his ass resting on her upper thighs only added to the heat she felt inside.

If he didn’t fuck her soon, she might just go up in flames!

“You want.”

She nodded. His eyes held hers. There was a magnetism there that was hard to ignore. He slapped the small cane across her tits. Arching, she cried out. Though the thing was slender, it stung! Again he zinged it across her tit, then slapped the other.

She moaned, deep in her throat, a gutteral, animal sound of pain and lust. Her hips bucked under his ass, even as he landed blows across her nipples. The sting there only served to intensify the throb of her aching clit.


Staring down at her, his eyes bore into hers. Her gaze held steady, but she felt the flush of embarrassment rushing through her. It only served to make the wet flesh between her thighs burn hotter.

Quick as a flash, he slapped her tit with his hand. She gasped. It hurt! It was sudden, unexpected, shocking. The blows kept coming. Left tit, right tit. He was unrelenting, slapping sides, top, undersides. Her tits bounced around her chest, beginning to pink, then redden. It hurt, the blows coming on top of the criss-crossed lines from the cane. She moaned. A tear slipped from her eyes, but in the commingled feeling of need and pain, she barely noticed it. Another deep moan, louder this time, filled the room. He smiled down at her as he beat her tits. She felt them swelling, felt like they would simply explode from the blows. The ache was intense, her nipples throbbing sharply with each blow.

Why was she moaning?

As if separate from herself, she felt the pain, but there was a responding tingle in her clitoris.  Slap-tingle. Slap-tingle. Reaching forward, he grasped both nipples and squeezed. Her mouth opened in a silent cry, until he started to pull his hands up. Still holding her nipples tightly, he pulled upwards, as if trying to tug her tits off of her chest by them. When it seemed that there was no more flesh, no more resilience, he twisted the nipples he held.

The pain was incredible. She cried out, shocked at the intensity of this new pain. And when he dropped her tits, it was almost as painful, as blood rushed into her abused nipples. He watched as she whimpered, moaned, tossing her head side to side as she tried to cope with the assault.

Shifting his hips, he let the tip of his cock tease at her slit. The shock of pleasure was as intense as the pain had been.

“I’m going to hurt you when I fuck you.”

The dark words sent a spear of lust straight to her core, even as his shaft pierced her folds. Without preamble, he jabbed his cock into her. It hurt, as her sex-starved pussy was suddenly filled with him. He fucked her viciously, using her hole to satisfy his own need. His body covered hers, and his mouth savaged her tits. Reaching between them, his fingers found her swollen clit and pinched.

She came in an explosion of light, color, motion. Her pussy clamped down on his thrusting cock as if it would never let go. He pushed through her grasping pussy, further exciting her, and making her orgasm roll on and on. She’d never been fucked while having her orgasm-the feeling was intense. Incredible. And still he fucked. He pounded her roughly, shoving every millimeter of cock into her cunt. His balls slapped at her ass, as he withdrew an inch, then grunting, pressed hard into her, short little fucks as if to pierce her belly. Her cervix screamed as he hit it hard several times, and her orgasm continued to roll through her.

It was one long, undulating wave of pleasure, wrapped in a cocoon of pain.

He pulled out of her pussy, and rose from her, gasping. Sweat rolled down his face, gleamed on his chest. His fingers slid into her pussy, then lower, pressing into her ass. One finger, making her whimper at that unfamiliar sensation. She knew. She knew what was coming next. For a moment, she wondered about that safeword. Two, two fingers in her asshole, then quickly, three. Twisting, turning, fucking as they widened her, and before she could think, his thumb pressed on her clit, mashing it hard, as his cock pierced through her back door.

Her mouth opened in a howl, but it came out as a deep, guttural grunt. He pressed hard, worked his way deeply into her bowels, filling her ass with his rigidity. For a moment, he lay upon her, buried deep, and let her breathe.

“Good whore. Going to fuck your ass hard, fill you with my jizz.” His words were dark, whispered into her cheek. And then he moved. Hips sliding down, then back, sawing his way in and out of her pooper. Her anus felt stretched beyond measure; every withdrawal was like taking the most incredibly sensual shit. Every filling of her hole was like being fucked by a baseball bat. It felt like he was bigger with every thrust.

Yet his thumb continued to play with her clit, her pussy began to tingle. As unbelievable as it was, she felt another orgasm building, building fast. As his pace increased, as he began to slam into her ass with the same force he’d fucked her cunt with, she felt the run of moisture between her thighs.

“Whore…you came. I felt that!” He was chuckling into her ear, biting her earlobe. His thumb rubbed her clit harder, faster, as his thrusting grew deeper. Soon he was grunting, and she knew he would cum. His hand rose to her tits, both closing into fists over her breasts, making her squirm to get away from the pain. His pelvis ground down on her pussy, the hair of his groin rubbing her lower lips, and pulling another climax from her, even as he shouted his own cumming.


The steady throb of her ass woke her. She lay cradled in his arms, sated. They were sticky, sweaty, and entwined deeply with one another.

“You were a good slut.” His voice, the honey of his voice, made her smile.

“Thank you Sir.”

“We’re not done slut. Just on temporary hiatus.”

The words filled her with a curiously light sensation. One she recognized for what it truly was.


HNT~Bad Girl

We met at a small coffee shop. One of those hip, new-agey places that serves funky, delicious teas, and wonderfully decadent desserts.  Funky and decadent being two of my favorite things, I fell in love with the place. It doesn’t have the slickness of Starbucks, and it is  less crowded than Starbucks as well. In short, it was a lovely place to meet.

He came to stand behind me as I tried to connect to the internet link…it was a bit perplexing. And it took a long while to make it work. And the entire time, His left hand slid up under my arm and pinched the fuck out of my left side. Hidden by my arm, the sneaky Bastard got me good. Additionally, He would tickle the right armpit…so I’d squeal and giggle uncontrollably.

I’m sure we were disturbing the one guy sitting on our side of the wee cafe…but he didn’t leave so maybe not. Likely thought it amusing that this odd, older couple were having such a silly time of it. I didn’t moan and cry when He pinched me, not aloud. I know He knew how much it fucking hurt…I’d drop my head against His side, and quiver, breathing hard through it. And He’d laugh.

When He sat down, He “admonished” me for being such a bad girl in public…for being so wiggly and giggly. Told me I’d have to write you all a blogpost about being so naughty.

Of course He was smiling when He said it. And now I’ve done it, Master, told the whole sordid tale.

Oh! Almost forgot the picture…it is HNT after all!

Pay for That Kiss

It was a short meet, just a bit over 30 minutes. I hate to use the word, but I was *desperate* to see Him. It had been two weeks, after all. We talked every day, but it isn’t really the same, is it?

I brought Him a treat, which He took and ate and played silly about…and then He started.


It doesn’t sound like much, does it? A pinch.

“Big fucking deal.”                “Quit whining nilla…”

oh, I hear you guys, giggling.

“Ha! that nilla calls herself a pain slut yet she wimps out over a few pinches?”

Ha yourself!!

It is dozens and dozens of pinches. Fierce, mean biting grabs of my tender flesh.  I drive home with my arms throbbing. Absolutely *throbbing*.  I know there are bruises already, it isn’t possible, with how hard He pinches, for there not to be. And there were some, at first.

And then they grew, and grew…and some bloomed where I didn’t even realize He’d gotten me. Pinching during tickles, for instance. Pain, pleasure (tho tickling is its own kind of torture…), mixed until I was heady with it, lost in it. Under my arms, around my tits, on my belly. This is my left arm, Monday night.

This morning I woke up, rolled out of bed, looked in the mirror. And blinked.


I look kind of like I lost a prizefight…bruises all over me. And some of them are very tender. Verrrah tender.

I remember the ones on my belly happening.

I had leaned into Him, holding His hands by the wrists, pushing them away from me and sneaking a kiss on Him, then dancing back before He could ‘get’ me.

He gave me that steely look that drives a hot shaft of lust straight up my pussy.

“Come here, nilla. Pay for that kiss.”

And He holds His hands out to the side, fingers poised.

Oh. I don’t wanna, I think in my head. I smile nervously, and He repeats the order, His voice a low, husky growl.

“Pay for that kiss.”

I took a deep breath and stepped into His space. His fingers pinch so hard, so fucking hard. Suddenly I’m up on my tiptoes, a ballerina in pink sneakers, and He is laughing as He pinches the *fuck* out of my belly.


I’m whimpering and crying a little, and suddenly it’s done and He’s tickling the fuck out of me, and my head is on His shoulder and it’s sweet, and torture, and just so fucking good.

I love moments like this. Marks to wear all week, tiding me through a busy 7 days until I see Him again next week. Still several weeks until we get together…..

….so for now, I’ll gladly pay in kisses of pain, just to be with Him.

sexual overdrive (6)

She had never eaten her own pussy sauce before.

She sat on the pillow on the floor of his kitchen, trembling. The aftershocks of orgasm, of the control, of the dominance  of him made her weak, light-headed.

“Subspace already, little one?”

She blinked. He was in front of her, smiling.

“Is that …? I… I don’t know Sir. I feel like I’m here…yet not.”

“An apt description, from what I understand. Rise, slut. The evening is well begun.” He gestured her to precede him from the kitchen.

“Turn left, yes. My room is at the end of the hall.”

It hung there a minute, a bald statement. This was a moment to decide…was she moving forward, or out the door.

She made the right turn, the correct turn, the only turn she could make,  moving down the hall towards his bedroom. No way was she going to miss out on any moment she could spend with him!  She’d never known anyone like him before, nor experienced anything like this before. Alive, throbbing with sex and greed and …who knew what else. He excited her, intrigued her, and kissed her boneless.

She stepped into his room and to one side so that he could enter. She had no idea what some of the stuff was in here.

“The lift is to help me up out of bed and into my chair. It is also a very good holder for one’s submissive. I can hang you up there in it and eat your pussy.”

She felt her face flame. He mixed the regular with the dark, constantly catching her off guard. He laughed at the play of emotions on her face, then continued. She thought he must really enjoy making her squirm.

“Of course, I can do that in the chair too. There are many, many ways to fuck you in – here in my lap, up in the lift, on the bed. It’s harder for me to ejaculate, so you’ll have to work hard when giving me a blowjob, but we’ll get to that in good time.”

“uh…okay.  I…don’t mind giving blowjobs.”

He smiled at her. “It’s not a question of “mind” anymore, Melody. If you are my submissive, you’ll give me a blowjob whether you’re “in the mood” for it…or not.”

It was simply stated. Not up for debate or challenge. As the popular phrase of the day went, it was what it was. . . a statement of his terms. His way. And she knew,  knew to her marrow, that by satisfying his needs, he would be certain to satisfy hers.  Perhaps not always the way she wanted,  or when she wanted, but….eventually.

At least, she hoped so.

Gods knew he’d done much to satisfy cravings she’d never given voice to, and in such a short time.  Why his words made her knees tremble, and her pussy grow wetter (as if that was even possible), she had no idea. She’d read about submission a lot. Blogs, stories, anything she could find. Not ONE of them explained the feelings she was feeling just now.



Turned on, immensely turned on. He didn’t make her feel “less than”…but important because her job was seeing, catering perhaps, to his needs.

“Up onto the bed.”

She moved across the spacious room, noting that what she thought was a wall was actually a pair of pocket doors. She wondered what was on the other side of them.

He looked at her, sitting on the edge of the bed, and grinned. Oh, that seemed such an inane word for that wolfish look. Her heart flipped over a bit, and she trembled again. Her nipples rose, poking hard as if for their own share of his attention.

“The other way, slut.”

Rising, she began to move to the other side of the bed. This time he actually guffawed.

“Slut! No…” his laughter broke through, as he shook his head at her. “On your belly, slut. So that I can look at your ample ass.”

“Ohhh…” she flushed, embarrassed.  She stood facing the bed, and then flopped forward, face-planting into the comforter.

Her muffled voice came through the covers.

“This is actually a good thing, Sir, so you can’t see me blush, but it may be possible that I could be setting your comforter on fire soon…”

He laughed, then she heard the sound of him moving towards her, the faintest creaks as he wheeled closer. In moments, his hand was caressing the curve of her ass through her skirt. His hands moved to her waist, tugging at the waistband. She felt the give of the elastic, then the slide of it. She shifted, just a bit, to ease him in pulling it away. Downward, over her hips. Downward, below her ass. Downward, over her legs, until at last, it fell into a soft fabric puddle around her feet.


She felt the slap of his hand between her thighs. Obligingly, she spread her legs wider.


Another slap, harder this time. It stung a bit, and excited something dark and needy inside her. Gawd. She was splayed across his bed, only her tiptoes still on the floor. She could feel the weight of her skirt on top of her left foot, and then he was touching her and she was lost in his sensations. His hands moved up and down her legs, sometimes just a soft whisper of touch, sometimes a hard pinch. She was squirming, moaning, whimpering and giggling in turn. The touching went on and on, never quite hitting where she needed it most.

Craved it.

Lusted for it.

Soon giggles turned into panting, and she pressed back, desperately seeking his fingers inside her.

“Does the needy slut want something?” His voice was husky, with that overnote of amusement she was coming to know very well.

“Yes! Yes! Touch me, please? I ..can’t bear it…”

“Of course you can bear it. What a greedy thing you are.”

His hands curved up over her panty-clad ass. Then tugged those down, exposing her ass to his view. For a moment, there was nothing. Not a sound, nor touch broke the stillness. She could almost feel his eyes looking at her. Drinking her in. Part of her wanted to squirm away in embarrassment. Part of her wanted to squirm down and hump his leg.

The swat against the fullest part of her bottom was unexpected. She’d thought there’d be more of the caressing, the feeling of the lay of the land, so to speak. She jolted, yelped. He smacked her ass again, in nearly the same spot.


He swatted her again, again in that spot. Three firm blows and already she was trembling. It hurt! It burned, a bit. And gods above, it was like a blast-furnace had erupted in her cunt.

His hand caressed the warm spot.

“You pink up nicely, slut.”

That was her only warning, as he rained a series of blows all over her left cheek. The right one still had the ringing sensation from the first three swats, but the left was now burning all over. He smacked from her hip to her lower back; from across the crack of her butt, down to that tenderest bit, where ass and upper thigh met.

Gritting her teeth, fists clenched in the coverlet, she rose to her toes and yelled loudly at that last one. So fucking sensitive. And he had the strongest hands! There was no tender caress when he was done, but she yelped again as his fingers went to work.

The bastard was pinching her!

“OW!” she howled, trying to evade his fingers. He slid his thumb into her pussy, grabbing the top of her cunt with his fingers curled up around her mons.

“OH….ohhh” she moaned, as he pressed hard against her g-spot with one hand, while assaulting her bum with the other. She didn’t know whether to cry or moan.

She did both.

He slid his thumb out of her pussy, and pinched across her pussy lips.  Her back arched at the feeling.


He slid three fingers into her. She froze. HE froze. She tried to move, to get some friction on that needy place inside.

“Want something?”

“oh Sirrrrr, please fuck me? Please?”

“nah. Way too early for that yet, slut,” he said, and she heard the fucking amusement there. Again. Her ass throbbed, burned. Her pussy yearned, burning with raw and wet need. She screamed as she felt his teeth biting into the underside of her ass. His fingers slid in and out of her once, twice, as his teeth bit into her tender buttock. She was torn between the incredible pain on her asscheek, and the incredible sensation of him caressing the inside of her pussy. At long last, his mouth left her ass, his fingers slipped out of her. She moaned deep in the back of her throat, whether in realization of the pain, or in loss, she was uncertain.

“You’ll remember this when you sit,” he said, pinching over the spot he’d just bitten.

With a swat, he bid her to  turn over.

She flopped, graceless, onto her back. He was grinning wickedly.

“We’ve only just begun, you and I and already you’re so wet.  What a delightful little slut you are, Melody!. And yet, we have another thing we need to discuss now. That of a safeword. Do you know why we need one?”

“So you don’t cut off my arm and I don’t protest until it’s laying on the floor?”

He barked out a short laugh.

“Essentially, yes. You need a word that you can say in the deepest throes of pleasure, and of pain. I will feed you a mix of both, little one. Think carefully. Your safeword will stop me, immediately.  It will stop everything, because it will mean that you have reached a limit that you cannot get through.”

She lay there, thinking only of her pulsing pussy. She was so fucking turned on she could barely stand it.


“Pizza?” His tone bordered on the incredulous.

“I will never again see pizza without thinking of you, Sir,” she said, speaking to the ceiling. She smiled up at the ceiling.

“Pizza it is, then.”

She felt his wicked laugh echo deep within her body.


Oh, what a busy day today was. Work went by quickly, and I had plans to meet up with Master afterwards.  He was supposed to be gone, but His plans changed, and we could hook up, at least for this brief time. How lovely it is, to get a wee surprise like that. Our play-day is postponed, but we still get to touch one another.

And how He touches me. With sweet words, and dastardly play. I want to kiss Him. I’ve painted my lips red for Him, and pull up to where He is parked, ponytail disheveled from my day, and the drive. I get out of the car, and lean into Him. He grabs my ponytail, and bends me over, ass in the air, head down by His knees, and pins me against the car.

And tickles me.

Finally, He lets me up. He leans towards me, as if to kiss, but there is that gleam in His eye…and as I lean towards Him,  to meet His lips, He grabs  each side of my waist and squeezes it so fucking hard it takes my breath away. A muffin-top is NOT a thing to have when one has a Dom who loves to pinch!

I pull away, and His grip slackens.

Once more, I lean towards Him and once more,  just before our lips meet, He tips His head away and pinches me, hard!  I yelp and rear back in pain. O fucking OWIES!

This goes on for quite a few minutes, and He is laughing softly to Himself. I’m not sure He’s even aware of it…just these soft chortles as I lean in,  cooing, yearning towards His lips, into more pain. The closer I get, the more it hurts…and I realize it’s a test. Do I want to kiss Him bad enough to take the pain He is giving me to “earn” it?

Hell, yes!

I have ginormous bruises already and it has only been a few hours since our meet. But well worth the price I am willing to pay to kiss Him.

I’m feeling frisky, playful, He says. He’s tickling me devilishly, and I’m all squirmy and girly. Then I start stalking His man-nipples. Aren’t male nipples neat? Tiny but they get so hard… 🙂 And I flick them, and pinch them, and am admonished for doing all that.

And we laugh.

“You’re in such a playful mood today,” He comments, and it’s true. After what was truly a hellish week, being upset and moody, and angry, and hurt and crying, to be here in this place and time with Him, and just being happy…was a delight. He supported me and verbally stroked and hugged me and lifted me up all week. It was a good feeling to just be able to be with Him, and be in a good, happy place.

We talk and tease, and He pinches me more, then little smacks, then some subtle nipple pinches that rise me to my toes like I was a ballerina studying for the role of the Swan! Holy HELL on a stick!

We played, semi-publicly, for about 40 minutes before I needed to go, before He needed to go. But there was one more “kiss test” to go through, before we parted.

I’ll wear these marks for a week or more.

A few minutes ago I called Him, as I had yet to hear about an orgasm. And you all know I’m greedy like that. We chatted for a few minutes, then He had me describe how the scene would play out for me…which always embarrasses me to say out loud. I know, funny, for a wordsmith who can tell the smuttiest of stories…but that’s how I roll (to use the vernacular of the teens).

“Well, Master,” I pause and ‘umm’ for a minute, and He ‘encourages’ me to speak. There is a subtle note of “do it now or lose it” so I start to speak.

“….I thought that nipple clamps would be good…it always feels like You’re here when I use them. The weight of the chain and the chill of the metal…”

“Good, go on,” He says.

“….and…um…the vibe, Master. I’d torture my clit with it a bit, maybe get close a few times before I go over the edge…not as close as YOU make me get but…close enough…” my voice trails off. I’m really not sure what more He wants.

“Pins on your nips instead of clamps. No. Wait.”

There is a verrrrry pregnant pause. The “Oh Shit” part, where my pussy tingles and I’m torn between ‘oh no no no…and the hideous joy of obeying His wishes.

“Okay, clamps on nipples, that’s good. And your tapered anal plug up your poop chute. And nilla?”

“Yes Master?” I say with trepidation in my voice.

“How many clothespins do you have up there with you?”

“TWO” I yelp triumphantly, giggling wildly.

“Don’t you fucking lie to me you cunt!” He says, but He is laughing too.

I count them. There are 12. I have counted them out loud as I gathered them up.

“Eleven. Eleven is a nice number. Eleven pins on the kitties, nilla.”

I swallow hard enough for it to be audible.

“And nilla?”

What now?       “Yes Master?”

“Be sure to find some of the bruises I put on you today. Make sure that there are pins on the bruises. Two if you can make it fit. Want to mark those bruises with those pins, got it?”

OH Holy Fuck!

“Yes Master…” and I admit it, my voice was *that* close to a whine.

He laughs.

Yes, He did. He laughed. Totally delighted.

“Remember, ELEVEN pins, nilla”

“I’ll take pictures, Master.”

“I’ll look forward to that, nilla,” He says, smugly.

And I admit it, when I hung up the phone, *I* laughed. That fucking sadistic Bastard got me again.

(yeah, I do like that He keeps coming out on top!)



URL for Blog Lawsuit/A Challenge from my Sadist

Sorry pervie peeps! I should proof read when I’m going to fast-publish a post (which is why I try to write ahead so I can do just that!)

Here is the URL for the blog I was mentioning in my Friday night post…

If you blog, and use pictures even from Google images…do read this. I believe all my images are down now, other than FFF pix. Still not sure what I’ll do with those.


Tonight after work, I had a few minutes with Master. It was awesome. It’s good to reconnect after a playtime. He pokes, and prods…and of course, tickles me.

And I begged for an O.

As I told Him…I rarely beg..He’s not all that fond of it. I whipped off my glasses, and flashed my baby-blues up at Him…I have reaaaally blue eyes, and I batted my lashes at Him, and begged pretty…

and He said “Oh, okay.”

Then He taps His lower lip.

Like, for two or three minutes.

“But not free, nilla. Here’s the thing. Here’s the thing. You get an O…and a half. Now, the half can come first…which will automatically eliminate ANY chance for an O on Sunday.  Or…”

He pauses, and looks deeply into my eyes. I wonder if He knows the full effect of that on me? How I feel shy, and loved. How I feel examined, and tenderly admired. Then He continues, changing the mood, bending the spell. Winding it around and around me, like a spider catches a fly in its web. He has me wound that tightly, too.

And wet. Did I mention He makes me wet?

“Or…you can have the full O first, the half-O second, which I KNOW you love, nilla (Insert rapid head-shake ‘no no no” here)…and have the chance of an Orgasm tomorrow (Sunday) night. That’s not a guarantee of an Orgasm….but it is a chance, which you don’t have at ALL if you take the half – orgasm first.”

So I sit, ready to go to bed, on the horny horns of a challenge. A roll of the Orgasm dice, thrown by Master.

What will I do?

(Oh, c’mon, you all know me. I know you’ll guess what I’ll do!)

TMI Tuesday

Last week there was a lot of drama in nillaville. Rough times, my friends. And nilla? Well….I’m a VERY emotional woman. Slut. Wife. Mother. I cry at Kleenex commercials, right? And things pile up and I tried  to “suck it up”. Actually i *did* suck it up. And then…

Guess what?

There comes a point when there is no more room for suckage to fit.  Master happened to be the one who hit the jackpot, and reaped the emotional firestorm.  I didn’t do something He had wanted me to do, and didn’t realize it was a Rule. Now I have been educated. And I reacted by crying my eyeballs out, and … saying hyper-emotional things like “if you don’t like me then take back my collar…”

To which He responds, in an altogether normal way…”so, you’re in one of your nilla moods, eh?”

He allowed me space to roll through the emotions, and supported me, and …  helped me through it. By not reacting to my breakdown, he got  me through it. I’d not shared my week from hell with Him. My bad. He had no idea where “it” (the mood) had begun. It didn’t change the fact that I’d fucked up on a task He expected of me, but it helped Him understand my reaction.  And i understood, after we talked some, where He was coming from. And i (ahem…) told Him it wasn’t fair.

*pregnant pause here*

Did your mouth just fall open in shock upon reading that? I know, I can barely believe I said it. And not just once, either.

(insert whiney voice here)

“But Master, that’s not fair. You didn’t make it a rule. You can’t say I fucked up if it’s not a rule. It’s just not fair.”

Do you know what He did?

Can you guess?

He laughed, the fucker.


He knows *exactly* how to diffuse me. “Fair? There is no fair here, little girl. It’s My way. I promised you several things…and fair was not one of them.”

And then He laughed again, “Fair!” He scoffed. And yanno?

He’s full-on right.

He’s the boss. Capital B Boss. Boss of me.

So now I have two new rules. Always  a picture on HNT Thursday. Always. Without exception.

And never, ever, let my pique with Him spill over into not sending Him a morning text.  I can text Him that I’m still mad, or sad, or call Him a prick. (Though I’ll pay for that if I do!)…but staying in communication is mandatory.

Yes, Master. *smiling*


We had face time on Sunday morning. It’s never very long, these little meetings, perhaps an hour or so. I have my tea, He has His coffee. He hugged me and kissed me, all the while,  grabbing my soft waist with his fingers, and pinching hard. As I climb to my tiptoes with the sudden surprising (and hurty) pain, He jokes about my going from 5’1″ to 5’6″ instantly.

ha ha.

It hurt, coz, yanno? I’m out of pain practice. Oh, sure, I’ve pegged my nipples plenty in these last 6 weeks, but real pain?

Master pain?

Nah. Not much…maybe a pinch here or there, a hand grab, a finger pinch. This was “full on” Master. Later He said that He was holding back. Way back. Um. Um. Really?

If that’s the case, then pray for me next Sunday, ya’ll!!

Left under arm…and the photo is a bit over-exposed, those are really darker. Yes, I took this photo about 5 hours after our visit.  (I bruise wicked easily).  ON the right arm there are even darker bruises, and the bonus of the imprint of his fingers. They’re  from “walking nilla to her car” as He grasped  the top of my arm in His vise-grip…they are pale purple and don’t photograph well. I Love, LOVE wearing His marks on my skin.

There is something about feeling His pain…I really don’t have words for it. If you’ve been there, done this, then perhaps you understand how…head-clearing it is. Knowing He loves me despite my occasional emotional breakdowns.  That He knows what to do to nurture me back to my happy place, and how often that nurturing is pain.

Perhaps that feeds us both.

His face, in the parking lot, was gleeful. The Sadist was having a blast. He was making me yip and wriggle and even, pull away to evade his pinching grip. It fucking hurt!  I *NEVER* try to pull away when He is hurting me.

Yet Sunday I did. And He laughed, and got this gleam in His eye…it made me smile to see Him so gleeful, and it did my heart and spirit a world of good to be transformed back from sad nilla, to happy sub/slut once more.

You’ll be happy to know we played “heart war” yet again. He found every one and returned them to me in painfilled ways…gripping my fingers, pressing one into my palm so hard I’m kind of amazed it didn’t embed in my skin…and even now I am wearing one on *my* chest. He put in on my shoulder, and I found it on my way home, and giggled, then stuck it on my tit, over my heart.

That’s almost exactly what it looks like, since I stuck it on while driving, not seeing which way it went. To me, they look like boobage, yanno? I know the shape has also been used for a woman’s ass, but to me, they are tits and cleavage.

Maybe that’s why I keep pressing them on Master, symbolically pressing my tits on him? Hmmm…where’s JM the amazing analyst when you need him, eh?


So, I’m in a good head space, all things being what they are, accepting the place I am in. And ….. today plus 4 more days…..Master and nilla will  have a “whomping” good time behind closed doors.

After 7 weeks, I’d say we were ready, eh!?