I need Him.

I like to pretend that I don’t, you know. That I’m a normal, vanilla woman. That I’m busy in my life, my career, my family. That when I go to bed tired at night, I’ll just sleep.


I don’t sleep. I look at Tumblr, at all the nasty little blogs that I follow. I get wet when there’s forced blow jobs, when there’s rape scenes, when there’s double or triple penetration pictures.

I throb, thinking of them.

And then I think of Him. Of the dildo in my ass when he fucks me. Of the feeling on my ass when he bites me after spanking me ruddy red. I remember the shocking pain of his pinching my tits, my belly, and the intense pull of his mouth on my nipple when he sucks my tit into his mouth…and bites.

That’s when I pull out my toys and it doesn’t take but a moment to cum.

I’ve been walking around in a half-aroused state for days now. Despite some really shitty stuff going on in my vanilla life, I’ve been able to shake that off. But not this…need. Not the desire to be slapped around, fucked into oblivion, beaten, and bitten. He’s one of those Doms who likes to make me cum. And cum. And cum. And when I think there’s nothing left after hours of this?

He makes me (yes, makes me)  cum again. And again.

Until I can barely think, barely walk, barely move. I’m a puddle of slut, in every sense of the word!

I miss that. I miss Him.

I hunger.


This unkinky feeling…I’ve had it before, as you know if you’ve read here any length of time. I would say that many of my kinky friends have gone through this too. Some are out of kink permanently, and some are just in stasis.

Whether it’s life events keeping us in vanilla mode, or a partner’s issues, or our own, it seems inevitable that one cannot sustain the full-bore D/s life as depicted in porn. No one is kinky all the time…perhaps in thought, but in deed? Not so much. Perhaps if one were independently wealthy (hmmm, and where have we heard of that before? Here? In other writing? Yeah, it seems that only the idle rich could have time for such self-indulgence!) one could maintain that lifestyle, but the rest of us? We have to put food on the table, and pay bills, and insurance, and mortgages or rent. We’re all in some mode of “life” and sometimes that simply precludes kink.

Which is not to say that some of our mundane life could be kinky. Himself suggested a few weeks ago when I was being particularly sassy and un-sub-like, that perhaps i’d like to wear a butt plug up my ass for one of my jobs. Or nipple clamps. And then he laughed, that evil chuckle, and I got wet…and that was the beginning, and end, of that thought.

Kink is great in ideas. Doms are always on the prowl (one imagines!) for perverting even those simple day to day things into something pervy. And it’s great if it manifests. And also inconvenient and sexy and annoying and wonderful…all of that. But it takes effort. He’s older, I’m older, we’re both extremely busy, and there simply isn’t time.

Or we don’t/can’t/won’t make time. That’s both of us. This doesn’t fall solely on his shoulders, I bear a responsibility to our kink as well. What we need is face time, and sometimes I forget that during this absolutely wonderful, crazy, busy, exciting time of the year, is that time is more precious than platinum. We don’t have a lot of it freely hanging around. Sometimes I find myself filled with wonder that my kids have time to just sit and be, because I’m busy all the damn time! And I look at all I do, and things I can delegate, I do. But is everything I do totally necessary? Does it pass the 1 year test (will it be important a year from now?)? And yes, for much of it. I loathe piles of laundry hanging around. So that needs doing. Can I live without doing something? For a while. But I’m way more OCD about stuff like that (in my own home, I’m not judging anyone else here!).

What I’m bumbling along saying is that I have a hard time letting go of the “to do’s” and prioritizing what is a “must do” from that pile of stuff on my list. And if D/s time is at the bottom of that list? It keeps taking a back seat to all the others.

Part of that comes on to him here. Whenever I manage to carve out free time? He doesn’t have it. Can’t/won’t shift things. And then I fill up that space, and the next time there’s free space, I don’t even ask.

So while I’m silent screaming over here about kinklessness, I’m also caught in my own triangle of causing it!

And I don’t have a solution except…wait for January. And I’m still on doctor restrictions through the end of December so that plays a role. *huge sigh* See what keeps chasing around in my head? It’s hard to stay sane when I can’t create workable solutions to problems that i’m at least 50% responsible for!

And you may have noticed that I don’t wait very well, either.


Impatient slut? Yeah. If the stiletto fits …


In this space you’d normally find a sexy tale, right?

But I’m struggling. Fretting. Maybe even a bit — um–freaked out.

I only need to say one word (I think) to help you understand:


You’ve likely seen/heard/read about the three girls taken from the streets of their neighborhoods. Stolen away on their way to their homes and schools and workplaces. Three girls, 14, 16, 21 who were *stolen* from their streets and *forced* to be sexual slaves to three men. Held against their will inside a home for ten years. TEN YEARS full of torture chamber devices, raped, beaten, tormented, impregnated.

In a sex blog –in MY sex blog — I write stories like this all the time-well, except I NEVER write about children. The darker tales are on Dark Fantasies, which gets way less traffic than here. There are people who are really into the darker tales–and frankly? I’m one of them. Not into snuff, NOT into kiddy porn, not into kids getting kidnapped and brought into sexual slavery. This is shocking. Horrifying. And yet.

Some of this stuff is the very same thing that *I* fantasize about. That I write about because others fantasize about it. But I do it under the auspices of TTWD…as people who are into the whole D/s experience, whether as an old hand, or someone learning their way, or someone curious –who might discover that this weird thing they think about has a name. D/s.

The D/s element that is missing from what happened to those kids is the oft spoken “consensual non-consent”…that is…for me as a submissive, I have consented to leave my fate in His hands. He can do as he chooses to me. He can make me stand on my head, He can make me piss in a cup and drink it, He can beat me, fuck me, whatever. I say “make” because His word is law–I obey because I’ve given Him my consent that I will…which makes it, at its root, a choice.

I think it stands to reason that within the bounds of “normal” discretion,  I don’t need to sit and write a 17 page document that spells out what He can and cannot do to/with me. Right? I don’t need to lay there and worry that I’ll come out of the hotel room dead. Or armless. Or with my toes in His black bag. It’s just not going to happen. Oh, I might not *like* some of the things He does to me. But I’ll do them and get off on it simply because He MAKES me…that’s part of my kink. But it doesn’t involve limb removal, murdering my children or other insanites.

Trust is the key element between Master and nilla. The essential element.

Trust is also an element that I write with here. I trust that you, my readers, will understand that my stories are fairy tales. Some are dark and some are funny–but all of them are just fantasy.

They are not permission to go out and capture your neighbor and chain her or him in your basement to make them your sextoy. It makes a good story–because its base, and squicky, and I try to make it sexy as hell for you.

It is NOT consent to go out into the world and do this to others who are not a part of TTWD.

My stories are not guidelines. They are not roadmaps to non-consensual kidnapping.

And it horrifies me that there could be one twisted mind out there doing just that.

The odds are against it. I know that. But while the shock and horror are so new? It’s hard for me to move past it.  I lay in bed the other night and considered shutting this down. Just…stopping.


*heavy sigh*

*I* need this outlet.

Just because some sick fuck went out there and did this…doesn’t stop this from being exactly the fantasy fodder that speaks to my own sexual perversions.

My fantasies are shared by many of you. We’re perverted, that’s true.



  1. (of a person or their actions) Characterized by sexually abnormal and unacceptable practices or tendencies.
  2. (of a thing) Having been corrupted or distorted from its original course, meaning, or state.

Sexually deviant? Well, ya.

I like to be hit. Spanked. Slapped with spoons, FSCT, His hands. I love to be marked and bitten and hurt. I *LIKE* it when He hurts me.

I like it when He forces me to orgasm beyond what I thought was ever possible.

I LIKE it when He stabs into my pussy, my tired, sore, achy, swollen, exhausted pussy, and finger fucks me to another orgasm.

The pain is pleasure, amplified.

This is my fantasy, which He crafts into my reality. This is what turns me on, makes my motor hum, makes me, me. It’s not ALL of who I am, but it is a viable, real part of me.

I would not be fully who I am without Dominance, without submission as part of my life. Could I live without Master? I’d like to think so (but then again, i’m the same slut who gets all worried and fretful when we go days without talking to one another-is that co-dependence? I prefer the term “love”, actually). But I’d be less of who I am. I’d be that unhappy creature who first started blogging 3.5 years ago,when I was confused about what I fantasized about, alone and uncertain.

I’m NOT uncertain any more.

I am not ashamed of being perverted–because it is ME. Not 14-year-old kids. Not some woman taken off the streets all unknowing.  This is my fantasy, from my head.

I can live with who I am. I can be happy to know that I am not alone in my perversions. I AM happy to have friends who are subs, who enjoy the dance of lust and pain.

And I know that I am not alone in these strange, twisted, sordid fantasies.

But do not make me a tool in your arsenal if you are up to no good. This is not a guide-book to creating a submissive sex slave.


Leave little girls to grow up as they should-in the school yard, in their backyards, out in the sunshine. Live your perverted fantasies as the rest of us D/s freaks do…consensually.

He’s a FUCKING Bastard….

Sorry to interrupt your reading of “Felicitations” dear pervie friends–i know i have left you hanging in a most terrible fashion. Not that you don’t expect that of me anyway….however, this time it is not. my. fault.

okay Master, i’m getting to it, really!

I need to back up a few days. To HNT day, actually. You’ll remember that there was a small pic of me at the end, what Master calls a “teaser pic” that doesn’t show all that much ‘stuff’?

seriously Master, you’re SO impatient. i can see you, sitting there at ‘our’ table, reading this ‘shit’ and saying to yourself, c’mon nilla get with it. Fix IT!

You’ll have to forgive these little asides. For as you are sitting and reading this with your morning coffee/tea/cocoa…Master and i are at Starbucks, and He is reading this.

Yes, right now.


I’ve been “tasked” to this particular post, you see. Which is why “Felicitations” has been bumped to tomorrow.  And i wonder if you’re reading faster knowing those two things…that He’s tasked me, and with that title up above there…

Coz, yanno? He really is a marshmallow Mean Fucking Bastard. *giggle*

i’m trying to be serious about this Master, really i am. i see you looking up at me with those stunning, leonine eyes of Your’s, ready to cut me to ribbons with that piercing gaze…keep reading, trust me, it gets better….

So, we, Master and i, were talking during FNF. He was verrrrry tired. About as tired as i’ve ever heard His voice. We talked for a long time, but no playing. It was just…sweet talk

i didn’t say that Master…see? Those are strike-throughs up there.  Everyone who reads here  knows…and understands, that i misspoke…just a wee bit…up there…

right everyone?

note to self….(no giggling out loud)

So we were talking and He was all Dommy and mean, you know how Doms are, right? (grin)  We were talking about spanking and tit torture, and assfucking, and hugging all sorts of other torturous things.

And we spoke a bit about the blog. This blog, not the Dark Fantasies one. And i remembered right then,  that i’d neglected to tell Him my status count for this weeks HNT. So i did that, and then mentioned that i’d said He was sweet.

You know, in the post.

This post…go ahead, i’ll wait. It’s right there at the beginning. And i kinda said it quickly, and kept right on going …and He drew me up short.

“Whoa…whoa…what? What did you just say?” He says in this incredulous voice. And the words “uh. oh” start floating in my head.

And i’ll confess here and now that i stalled told him hesitantly. Coz…yanno. I *know* that tone. Not quite the same tone He used Thursday night when we were on the phone and He was yelling at His GPS lady (He called her a presumptuous cunt!!!) for interrupting Him while He was talking. (Which, btw, made me hysterical!)

But i did, eventually, mutter “I said you were sweet” in this tiny voice. Which He made me repeat, only to holler say calmly “you did what?!”

You did holler, too, Master, but i struck that part out, coz, yanno, I didn’t want people to think you were a total Asshole. Then again…hmmm…that is the point of this isn’t it?    Wait …is this  like one of those stupid math problems? You know the kind, Master…. A train leaves Boston at 9:32 headed for Cleveland, while another train leaves Chicago 4 minutes later. At what point do they cross the equator. It is, isn’t it….??…anyway, i digress…

Now, you all know that Master is a right tough Sadist. You’ve seen the pics of His handiwork a few weeks ago…so you all know He’s rather firm handed with me.

And oh, how i love that!

Love that He takes charge, love that He hurts me so good. But the “sweet” comment? Well,  it’s ruined His “street cred”…who’s gonna believe that a “sweet” guy is a Fucking Bastard?

Who would believe that someone who poured a bunch of sweet on His slut would also do this:

Am i right?

Surely, only the deepest, darkest kind of Sadist would inflict this kind of pleasure hurt on His submissive slut, right?

see Master? did You have *any* doubt that i’d get around to the ‘good part’….eventually?

You know i see You, sitting there, looking up at me and giving me the “Hairy Eyeball” look…the one that makes me giggle nervously…and makes me all squishy and wet …

*big smile*

Must be because i’ve done “IT”…fixed it all up nice and tidy, so that everyone now knows the truth about You…yes? Big Bad Ass Dominant Master of nilla (the slut..wait, i think that’s redundant…nilla is synonymous with ‘slut’…)

Coz really, pervie friends, He is the sweetest meanest most ornery Man you’d ever chance to run across …

what’s that Master? i said it again?

i did not.

it’s a strike out, see? And You know, Master that whatever is struck out is just totally disregarded by my readers. Oh, yes, they grok it.


Whoops, sorry there Master…that one just kind of slipped out.

Yes, You know i am taking this assignment totally seriously.

Oh, BTW Master? There’s a teeny little heart stuck on Your back. From when i hugged You when i got here.  🙂




(He’s not the only one who’s “bad” !)

sub drop soup? mebbe -or- mebbe not…

*big sigh*

subdrop anyone?  Remember? i wrote that i’d not had subdrop? that Master is maintaining me so well, so intensely?

yes, and yet, here i am, all droopy and sad and blah-

i didn’t sleep well at all last night, and not for long enough the night before so perhaps just being tired is the root of this.

big time bummin’ here.

The sun shines, the bits of snow (in the front yard i see from the window as i write this) disappearing …*deep sigh*  and i’m just not in my happy place.

So i open my email…and gawd…HOW does He know? We have this…connection…i know when He’s texted, He knows when i’m laughing…i dunno, hard to explain here without sounding hokey, so just–suspend disbelief and roll with it, k?

We’re connected somehow.

So this is what He wrote me this morning, after i’d confessed to Him (two days ago) that even happy as i am, i am prone to moments of intense depression:

“take a deep breath and flash to me holding you tight leaving one of my “Dedicated Nilla” bite/bruise marks on your lovely shoulder – only to be licked and nurtured by me so I can bite you again. Or think of the erotic pain when I grab your ass cheek like it’s a loaf of bread and the message that goes with it – “you’re not going anywhere little girl; Master owns you and has to claim his property – again.”

“…The message here is that I believe you have enough ammo to fight off any depressive moments that try to occupy your mind. I don’t like nor will I accept the thought of you being depressed – and we’ll work on it together.”

Wow. Just ….wow. Even as i was sliding into subdrop, feeling blue and a bit melancholy, He wrote that to me…and yanno? It helped.

Just re-reading it, and dropping in the salient quotes here? Has given me back some of the “lightness of being” i feel being with Him.

i am so fucking lucky.


And we talked on the phone last night while He was driving and He set me to my corner time while He could hear me whimper with clamps on my very sore nipples (sore from His hands the day before) and butt plug in place (trying not to laugh as His funnah’s so the fucking thing wouldn’t pop out) (oooh, that made me smile just writing that)…Master kept trying to make me giggle. To laugh.  He was trying His earnest best to give me the guffawing giggles so that effing plug would pop out.

(You were too, Master, i know it, You know it…)

It’s a small tapered plug and pops out alarmingly easily when standing. (You don’t hear me asking for a bigger one however) And i got to have two orgasms last night…as long as i could hold the plug in.

Damned if He didn’t make me chuckle. Then giggle. Then a small laugh.


But, i held that effing plug  in.

Meanwhile, my left nipple was on fire. NO. really. FYYYYRRREE. Gawd it fucking hurt so good/bad/good. The right one hurt but for whatever reason the left one was double out-chie. Maybe even triple ouchie. (i love saying that aloud…out-cheeeee..and yes, it does make me wet to say it.)

So here i was, stuck between a rock and a hard place. Laugh, and disable the pain in my tit, (coz for whatever reason, when He makes me laugh crazy silly? i feel no pain) and perchance pop out the b’lug (oh, see what i typo’d there? butt plug as a conjunction. *That’s* a keeper!) and lose one of my orgasms?

Or try to stifle the hilarity that kept rising up, suffer the pain in my nipples and get my double “O”….

Oh, a conundrum of epic proportions.


You’d not believe how long it’s taken me to write this post. Usually i can bang them out (an oldie but goodie pun there–sex blog, bangin’ ’em out!) in under an hour but today? Not so much. In the last 2.5 hours i’ve gone and picked up my van (finally, all tuned up, and two new tires to boot!), swept my front sidewalk (yay!), found my run-away dog (the scoundrel!), and discovered i have to work this evening.  Now showered, and clean…wait…me? clean? whoa. okay, my body is scrubbed and sweetly scented, my hair is hanging in tousled wet curls (why won’t they stay when my hair dries?) and my mind is dirty as ever.

Lucky you.

And any potential subdrop is gone, down the street with the drek from the side-walk, out into the atmosphere, evaporated under the strong March sunshine, washed down the drain with my b.o.


Like it never even happened.

Thank You Master. For throwing out my “sub-drop soup” and finding my rainbow at the bottom….and …..

…for those TWO  Orgasms last night!