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.


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.

Pre-empted for Fucking!

I could sit here and write a long and tedious blogpost about life, and rain, and sunshine, gardens, and anal play and tentacles.

But I won’t.

Not tonight.

Tonight I’m thinking about what He’ll do if I forget to bring my nipple clamps and weights. Tonight I’m wondering which shoes He’ll bring for me to wear, and how hard He’ll hit with that fucking pink hairbrush.

I’m thinking, too, about how long it’s been since a long and extended pain session, and how fucking long since I had an orgasm (Tuesday, people. Fucking Tuesday!)

I’m fretting a bit…can I walk in 6″ stiletto’s with an ankle that isn’t always happy to support me? That sounds like doubt…as if I need to worry about how He’ll care for me, about me, which is stupid, because He takes *excellent* care of His property. He is solicitous, which might sound strange to peeps new to this lifestyle. How can someone be solicitous of one whom He is preparing to beat the begeezuz out of?

Yet, He is.

He cares for me, about me, and will take good care of my stupid ankle.

And I worry…as always…can I take this? Can I take what He’ll dish out? Well, of course. There’s not an option once the door closes. He’ll fuck me, or fuck with me, however He chooses to. Hit me, slap me, pinch me….I’ll fall under His spell and all this nervous stuff will simply fall away. I won’t give two seconds of thought to my nerves once that door closes and locks behind me.

Consider all the sexy words have been put up on a shelf for the nonce…they’ll be back next week, but for now? They’re preempted.

Coz nilla is off to be royally fucked.



3 Gruff Sisters and the Troll- A Sexy Fairy Tale

i worked on this with great assistance from my dear friend and fellow author Will from Erotic Writers. I sent it out for publication and heard nothing so *shrugs* whatever, right? Since I’m still not feeling well (it’s been such a yucky weekend at Casa nilla–even Master is being unerringly kind to me 🙂 ) I thought I’d plop it here, since who knows when I’ll be back to writing again? Enjoy. OH, it’s a bit long, and I thought about serializing it, but then figured, hell, my readers can handle 5000 words! ~nilla~

The day dawned sunny and bright. After a solid week of too much to do, the Gruff sisters decided it was time to head up to the meadows. All three girls were looking forward to a day of leisure, soaking up the sun, weaving garlands of flowers for their hair, gathering berries, chasing butterflies. Whatever they chose to do, they would. It was a day for fun and relaxation. Back at home, there would always be chores – the sort of things that never, ever were “done”. They had decided last night that they all needed a little break. Besides, the littlest sister, Andi, pointed out, they’d have berries for breakfast for the rest of the week.

Pacing around the parlor,  Andi was full of impatience and a goodly amount of impudence. After watching her sisters fuss over their clothing for far too long, she decided to venture off on her own. Eventually they would catch up to her. She didn’t exactly leave stealthily, though she did close the door very quietly on the sound of her sisters voices.  Which corset, indeed! She, clad in a simple cotton skirt and blouse, almost skipped for joy as she left their home behind, and climbed the narrow road heading up to the rolling foothills. She enjoyed the breeze full of verdant scents. Closing her eyes for a moment, and tipping her head up for the kiss of the sun on her cheeks, she smiled for the first time in days. Sweet, this taste of freedom!

Singing a naughty little tune under her breath, she came to the heavy-timbered bridge. Here she paused nervously. There had been rumors that a troll had taken up residence under the bridge. Looking up and down the long riverbed,  the silver ribbon of the river was low, sparkling in the sunshine on its path down the mountains. It was entirely reasonable that there could be a troll down there, hiding just out of view in the shadow of the bridge. She’d heard other things about trolls, too. Things that made her nervously excited.

Her heart thumping hard in her chest, the littlest Gruff sister decided to run, run, fast as she could, across the wooden trestle. It was really more of a skip, however, with an occasional pause to peer down at the river below. Of the rumored troll there was no sign, much to her disappointment.

Yet, before she reached the end of the bride, a large, hairy, and incredibly fearful-looking troll leapt in front of her, blocking her way.

“Who dares to cross my bridge?” He shouted at her, his voice a ferocious growl. A waft of fetid air came from his mouth and she shivered and turned her head away.

“Tis only me, Sir Troll, the littlest Gruff sister. I am on my way to yonder meadow to pick daisies…” pausing, she reached into her pocket. “Breath mint?” She handed him a wad of honied mint. “I made it myself. And really, Sir, you very much need it.”

He, waving a meaty hand in the air, paused to stare at the wee lass standing before him, offering a treat. Perplexed, he snatched it up, tossing it into his mouth. He frowned down at her, while attempting to gobble it quickly. Once it hit his mouth, however, it melted into a sticky goo, taking him several minutes of chewing and mouthing the thing to get it down. All the time, the little wench stood, head tilted, watching him with a small smile on her face.

“You…should be SCARED of Troll,” he growled at her.

“Oh, that’s much better. Your breath I mean. And I’m very scared.” She smiled up at him innocently and batted her lashes.

“As I was saying, Sir Troll, I’m headed up to yon meadow to gather yummy tasting blackberries, which I will gladly share with you on my return, kind Sir.” She finished speaking, then moved, gently brushing her breasts against his arm, as if trying to edge past him.

He grabbed her arm, stopping her. With his other hand, he pulled apart the lower part of his pants. An engorged cock burst free, startling the poor girl. She stared at him, at it, aghast, waving her hand in front of her face.

“NO BERRIES! This  is the only thing you’ll  be tasting today,” he said, shaking her a bit.

“I’m afraid that part of you is just as…aromatic as your breath was, Sir Troll. I can see that you’re not much for bathing, are you? And yet, there’s that lovely stream just below. Why, I imagine that if you ran down there quickly, washed that impressive…I mean…frightening…part of you carefully, and rushed back, I wouldn’t even have time to finish crossing the bridge before you returned, and had your wicked way with me.”

Once more she tilted her head at him, aimed that innocent smile at him. He frowned, took a step back, then bolted for the side of the bridge. From underneath came the sound of crashing underbrush, furious splashing, and a faint curse as cold water came in contact with warm flesh. In moments, it seemed, he was back.

He strode to her, grasping her hair, and pulled her to her knees. In moments the large purple head brushed her against her closed mouth. Yet, at that first touch of his cock,  her lips parted. As he jutted his hips forward, he sank deeply into the wet, succulent heat of her mouth.

She gagged, a bit.  He moaned as she tried to keep her breakfast in her belly. As he moved, sawing his giant shaft into and out of her mouth, she found a rhythm to breathing and relaxing her throat. After all, it wasn’t everyday a girl had a cock this huge thrust into her mouth! She felt an answering thud to her racing heart between her thighs. She had dreamt of such wicked things, ever since she had accidentally spied the Widow Morris licking the cock of her stableman as if it were a delightful length of taffy. She had often remembered that scene, wondering at the taste and texture of a man’s shaft, while touching her own folds. And now, it was happening to her!

Her lips were stretched wide, her eyes were squeezed shut, as he continued pumping in and out of her mouth. She tried to suck it back each time he withdrew, and curled her tongue around it each time the massive length slid deeply into her throat. She could feel him quiver, and hear his gasps. If her lips hadn’t been stretched so, she would have smiled. At long last, and far too soon,  he grunted, and a hot, salty fluid filled her mouth. She’d never tasted such a thing before, and there was so much of it! It was like over-salted cream, she thought, runnels of the stuff leaking out the corners of her lips, as she licked and suckled the softening length of him.

With a pop, he pulled out, and tucked his rod away.

“Go,” he ordered roughly, and without hesitation, the littlest Gruff girl rose on shaking knees and ran the rest of the way across the bridge and up and up until she reached the meadow, where she fell back into the soft cushioning grasses, and slipped her fingers between her legs, licking her lips for one more taste of the Troll, until she shivered and quaked her way to the most incredible release she’d ever had.


Fiona looked around the house. It quickly became apparent that Andi had taken off on her own again. With a sigh, she looked at the dishes in the sink. They kept piling up, like magic. Evil magic, she mused, frowning at them. She could use the time while she waited for their eldest sister to finish her preparations (though for goodness sake they were only going to the meadow, not a grand ball!) by attacking the pile in the sink. She really should, she mused, as she eyed the back door with longing.


With a burst of energy, she strode across the kitchen and was out the door before she could interrupt their leisure day. Somehow, it never felt like she got that break. There was always something that needed attention. Laundry or mucking the stable, gathering eggs, or patching their garments- always there was a longer list of things to be attended to then there were hours in the day. She knew  that the dishes would still be there when they returned this evening. She hoped, wished, dreamed, that someday she’d find a handsome prince, who would have a fine castle and hundreds of servants to do all the dishes.

She smiled at her folly, as there were no princes anywhere around here, just magical creatures. Really, she would even settle for one of the fae. How lovely it would be to have someone to help around the house. Even better, to have someone to snuggle with in her lonely bed. She kept a tattered book hidden under her feather bed, with exotic pictures of men and women entwined together. She’d studied them all, especially the page with a certain tantalizing picture of woman’s ankles,  up and over the man’s shoulders, his penis poised at the entrance hidden between her thighs. His arms were bulging with muscles, as were his thighs. His erect shaft rose from a thatch of thick hair. She had spent many a long evening tracing it with her fingertips.

She wanted to see one. She mouthed the words as she walked. Penis. Cock. She shivered at the naughtiness of saying it aloud.  She ached to touch one. Yearned to feel it press into her, to fill her belly with its firm length.  There were many stories she had spun about that, as she touched herself in the deep dark night. Many nights  she had to bite her lips to keep from crying out as her mystery lover brought her to the peak, as her body wept copious amounts of love juice.

The sun shone brightly as she moved up the pathway, lost in thought. She often wondered if her sisters ever thought about men in the way she did. She was constantly dreaming of them and their hard bodies.  Her slow steps eventually brought her to the heavy wooden bridge. She kept walking, her feet moving automatically, her mind tangled in images of her deepest longing.

“Who dares to cross my bridge?”

With a shriek, she took a step back, catching one foot on the other,  falling. She landed on her backside, legs sprawled, head spinning. It was a troll. He was tall, with a thick beard and hair like a dark halo around his head.  He was impressively ugly, yet he smelled like Andi’s  mouth mints.

Wasn’t that curious?

All the warning tales about sightings of a troll at the Meadow Bridge ran through her head. She’d discounted them as foolish stories meant to scare people-after all, there hadn’t been a troll on this side of the mountains in decades! Yet here she was, and there, most definitely, stood a troll.

He seemed enormously tall; then again, she was laying on her back and looking up at him. His scowl was ferocious.  Or perhaps it was a smile? His teeth and mouth were huge, and as he approached her, looming over her where she lay, she wondered if this nasty beast would eat her! She wished she’d paid more attention to how to be rid of one.

“You were crossing my bridge. You must pay a toll.”

“I…I haven’t any coin with me. I was just on my way to the meadow. I can give you berries on my return, Mister Troll. Would that be a fair toll?”

“Berries? Berries? What is it with you girls and berries?” The troll shook his head, setting his scraggled hair to dancing. Fiona lay looking up at him, thinking that he wouldn’t be quite so fearsome if his clothing fit better and was clean. She was very handy with a needle.

“You aren’t all that terrible looking, Mr. Troll. Why, with a proper haircut, you’d be passing handsome!”

Fiona wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised by that little pearl of wisdom as it popped from her mind to her lips.

“Troll is NOT handsome,” He growled, hands on his hips. He glared down at her, yet she sensed a longing in him. Being a troll under a bridge must be a lonely thing, after all.

“Troll will take his toll. NO more talk of berries.”

In seconds, his pants were tugged aside and the most amazing penis popped out. Being of a somewhat analytical nature, Fiona looked at it intently, comparing it to the pictures she’d seen in her book. It was a lot bigger. ‘One might even term it massive,’ she thought in awe..It had thick veins, and a swollen purple head. Two heavy, meaty balls hung below it, each as big as her fist!

He stepped between her sprawled open ankles, then dropped to his knees. She swore she felt the bridge tremble under her. His hands grasped the hem of her skirt and it suddenly dawned on her exactly what sort of toll he was going to take from her.

Excitement mixed with fear. It was, she could see, so much larger than the wooden cock she kept with that book under her bed. She wondered for a moment if such a huge thing could even fit inside her own, much smaller body.

“Mr. Troll?” she bit her lip. It wasn’t everyday that fantasy came to life and she didn’t want to blow this opportunity.

“I-.”  She paused again. How did one address the issue of “fitting” with a troll?

He looked at her, brows furrowed. “What you want, girl?”

“Well, Mr. Troll, your….cock,” and she blushed profusely to say that word aloud to him. “it seems very large. I wonder if it will….fit?” Her voice trailed off. The head of his cock dripped a pearly bead of fluid. She licked her lips, watching as a second drop gathered, then fell in slow motion to the ground between their legs.

He laughed, the sound like metal scraping against metal. It was not a pretty sound.

“My cock is biggest Troll cock in these mountains.” He gestured expansively.

‘Likely the only troll cock in these mountains,’ thought Fiona, though she held her tongue.

He grasped the base of his cock, shaking it at her, making another thick droplet fall to the ground.

“I make it fit.”

Suiting words to actions, he leaned forward, pressing his enormous penis against her cleft. He slid it up and down her slit, making her arch and moan when he hit the sensitive place at the top. He pressed forward. She spread her legs wider.

“Please?” she whimpered, then taking the initiative from him, lifted her hips until the head of his cock was virtually sucked into her tight channel.

Her eyes nearly rolled up in her head;  it was like nothing she’d imagined. She rose higher, taking him deeper. His cock stretched her, making her ache in a delightful way. She opened one eye, staring up at the troll. He was staring down at where their bodies were joined. She could see confusion on his face.

“Well?” she growled up at him. “Get on with raping me, will you?”

He blinked, obviously unused to being ordered around in this fashion. He started to sit back on his haunches to think about this, but she wrapped her legs around his thick torso.

“Now…” she snarled at him, “rape me now!”

Tightening her legs, she impaled herself deeper on his thickness. Nature took over at that point, and he pressed the rest of the way into her.  As he pulled back, she tightened her ankles, trying to hold him in; she felt so delightfully full!

He moved to lay atop her, and she moaned. Oh the delight of being pinned helplessly in this way. He bit her nipple, making her arch against his mouth. In moments she was screaming, coming hard, her pussy  clenching and massaging the length of him. He fucked, she came again. He fucked, and fucked and fucked. After a long, long while, he stiffened.

She was in somewhat of a stupor, having had orgasm after orgasm, yet his fingers found her clit, his mouth all but inhaling her breast, as his cock grew impossibly thicker, and began to pulse. She came with a roar, her fingers twining into his hair, pushing his head onto her breast, back arching, legs tightening, pulling him as deep as possible inside of her.

He was coming. Pressed hard against her insides, with no room to spare, every ounce of his  juice filled her. Her back arched, her body taking more, as much more as she could get. Never before had she felt this wanton. Never before had she ever imagined that one of the pages of her hidden Matings book would come to life. Never before had she felt so good. It was the stuff of fantasy, come to life.

She lay, flaccid, as he rolled away.

“Wait,” she whispered, her hand outstretched in longing. But he had already vanished below the bridge. At long last, she rose, her body glowing, and walked onward to the meadow, with their juices tracing down her thighs.


Sue tugged once more on the laces of her corset. She did like them tight, and damnit, her sisters had likely already left, as she’d called to them twice and gotten no response. Doing herself up the best way she could, she adjusted her leather pants, straightened her boots, and gathered up her implements. Her sisters were definitely of the “girlish” variety; she herself was made of sterner stuff.

It wasn’t that she was cruel to them, but they needed tasks to help keep them happy. A long time ago Sue had noted that most people fell into two distinct catagories- those that like the doing for others, and those that liked receiving such doings. Her sisters were the former while she was very much the latter.

She liked going to the mountain meadow well enough, but she would be hunting game for dinner. The younger two would braid flowers or some such frittery, while she would get on with the business of supplying them with meat.

As if they could live on daisies, she snorted to herself. Taking up her hunting sack, she slung it over her shoulder, and headed up the road.

At the bridge she paused. The locals had spoken, just last week when she was in town, of the possible presence of a troll. While she’d seen nothing of the kind herself, she left naught to chance. Unslinging her whip and club, she walked steadily across the bridge, taking note of a puddle in the center. Bending, she pressed a finger into it. Warm. Sniffing it, she frowned.


In the middle of the bridge where her sisters had been? Now, wasn’t that passing strange? She rose to her feet, weapons at the ready, but nothing untoward occurred, and she continued on to the hills. She found one sister picking berries near the trailhead.

“Hie, Fiona!” She called. Fiona’s head popped up, startled. She turned away from her sister, just a bit, enough to make her curious.

“What ails you?”

“Nothing. Just …picking berries.”

“Fiona, I can tell you are…what the hell is that?” Sue pointed at the stain on the front of her sister’s dress. It was dark with the drying spittle of the troll.

Her sister cast her eyes to the ground, lower lip trembling.

“I …I couldn’t stop it. Truth? I…I didn’t want to. He was so big, Sue. His arms were like logs, his legs like marble. And oooh how huge  his cock, Susan!  Merciful goddess, his cock was a work of art!”

She paused, hand to her breast, remembering. She smiled, smitten.

“He needed a haircut, a shave, and some tailoring, but he was so ruggedly handsome.”

Sue looked at her sister in disbelief. What the hell had she been drinking up here? Last years mead?

A trilling call and rippling grasses presaged their younger sisters arrival. Her hands were full of daisy crowns, and she plunged into the scene with happy cheer.

She moved to pass out the crowns, but caught onto the tension.

“What…what..?” she asked, confused.

“I think our sister has fucked a troll.” Sue spoke flatly, hands on hips.

“I didn’t mean to, and it was just my mouth…” Andi’s eyes fell to her feet. Looking up, she saw the disbelief on both sisters faces.

“Wait…he got you, too?” squeaked Fiona.

After a few minutes of cacophony, of catcalling  “you slut, you whore” Sue had had enough. The volume and shrillness rose until she dropped her hands on her hips and whistled as if to dogs.

Both girls stopped, clapping hands over their ears. She had a fearsome whistle!

“Enough. It appears that we have a resident troll, who fucked you,” and she pointed at Fiona, “and used your mouth,” she continued, speaking to Andi. They nodded, still mutinous.

“And I didn’t see him at all, so he was likely totally fatigued by having both you juicy pieces in such a short time. Very well, I’ll just see to that. Give me an hour before you return.”

Both girls nodded somberly.

“Sue?” Fiona asked, her voice a bit sad. “Please…don’t hurt him too much. I…I kind of liked what he did. A lot.”

“A lot, but kind of? Silly girl. Pleasured by a stinky troll? There are better ways…”

“Like there’s anything hung like that in town,” muttered Andi under her breath.

Sue shook her head, torn between bewilderment and annoyance. She pointed to each of her sisters, her tone brooking no argument.

“Stay. Here.”

A chorus of “yes Ma’am”‘s followed her as she left the meadow at a near trot.


She came to the bridge in short order, her long strides and impressive annoyance eating up the miles.

“Yo, Troll!” She shouted.

In a few moments, he clambered up the bank, looking more than a bit exhausted.

“What you doin’ on my bridge,”  he tried to thunder, but really, it had been a long, long time since he’d had an orgasm, let alone two in an hour. He was exhausted and just wanted to sleep.

She took a step forward.

He took a step back.

She backed him across the bridge, step by step. Once his contact with the water and bridge was broken, as he stood on the road, his power was broken.

In moments, Sue had looped her whip around his neck, collared him, and led him back to the house. He trudged along behind her, thinking fondle of napping. In the backyard was the old trough where they watered their mare.

“Get those clothes off. Hard to say which smells more…you or those rags. Get in there and wash.”

He grumbled. She pointed, first with her finger, then with her short crop. She swatted his backside as he reluctantly clambered into the water.

“Stay there.”

Striding into the house, she found one of the bars of lavender soap that her sister made, and tossed that at him. Before he could bite it, she stopped him.

“NO! Wash yourself–every INCH of yourself–you stinking creature.”

It took a while, and many buckets of water, until Sue was satisfied that he was de-stunk enough to enter the house.  His clothing stayed in the trough, he could come out later and wash them.

She walked around him as he stood in the kitchen. Her sisters were right. A bath, and later, some grooming, and he would be more than passing presentable.  Stopping in front of him, she looked at the giant cock between his hairy legs. Interesting. She smiled. Directing him to her room, she bid him to sit on the floor and to not move.

In moments she was back, with a strange ring in her hands.

“This used to be part of our mares tack. I’m going to put it on your cock. . . because it is my cock now, understand?”

He was slow to answer. As punishment, she swatted his upper legs, catching the hanging cock, making him yelp. He may have been big, but he still felt pain.

“Yes. Your cock.” He answered a bit reluctantly at first, then continued hopefully,  “I like your cock.  Troll want to put your cock in your cockhole.”

“Later, perhaps,” she purred at him. She slid the silver ring over his balls, then slipped his flaccid cock through. He frowned, moved a bit. She grabbed his testicles, squeezing firmly.

“Enough wiggling. Be a good boy and stay still.”

His hairy brows beetled down, his expression confused.  He watched her cross the room, tugging down her man-pants. He’d never seen a girl wear pants like that before. Yet she had all the right girl parts.

“Come here and taste me. I’ve always wanted someone to lick me. You have a big tongue. I want you to use it on me. Lick me good and I might let you fuck my sister again.”

The troll went to work, having never tasted pussy before, he found it delightful, his mouth and lips working to devour every drop of fluid, stroking over her button, making her writhe and moan and leak more honey onto his tongue. He pressed his tongue into her cockhole, and found it to be hot, and clenching on him. Fucking her with his tongue was delightful for both of them.

She had never ever felt the like! To have an enormous tongue lapping and stabbing into her nether regions? Amazing.

“My ass…you must lick me there, too…my crack, my hole..all of it.”

Being a troll of small brains, he wasn’t worried about that. He’d eaten worse, actually. His tongue slid up her back cleft as readily as the front, then pierced into her ass with abandon.He actually smacked his lips between slurpy suctioning of her ass and cockhole!

Finally she pushed him away. She was light-headed from so many orgasms. She heard her sisters come in, the sound of their nervous whisperings.

“Fiona! Andi! Come in here!”

She stood, bare-bottomed, the troll laying at her feet.

The two girls stopped, amazed at the sight.

“I believe we found the answer to our needs…our pet troll will help with all our chores, won’t you, Troll?”

He nodded, though he wasn’t altogether sure what a ‘chore’ was. He wondered if it tasted like the snack he had just enjoyed. He smacked his lips.

Sue looked to her sisters. “And we shall take turns with him, so that everyone gets to enjoy our new pet. Agreed?”

They nodded assent eagerly.


“Your tea, Madam.”

His accent was perfect, thought Sue. It hadn’t taken too many beatings to whip him into shape. His suit and tie fit impeccably, he was well-groomed, and he only tended to slobber after the guests had been served high tea. She’d allowed that-as long as he was in the kitchen or stables, and out of his livery. A troll, after all, is still very much a troll under the fine clothing.

She also didn’t mind the gruntings and foul language when he was occupied with one of her sisters, and certainly enjoyed his controlled attentions herself.

Yes, the Gruff sisters, had done well in civilizing their new pet. And although he would sometimes frown and stomp around the house, all it took was a raised eyebrow, and the suggestive tapping of her crop against her boot to end any thought of stomping away.

No, he was their troll now, and he was never found under the bridge again.

The End

Ho Ho Ho! Random nilla-ness

I’ve been meaning to post this for more than a week…but things kept cropping up (get it, cropping? LOL I crack myself up sometimes!) and I never got around to it. And now here it is, Christmas Day for those of you who celebrate. I do, despite my pagan philosophy…I was raised in Christianity, and still find beauty in the old hymns, tho I may not agree with the content. 🙂 With kiddo’s in the house, it’s pretty hard to not go the traditional route…someday I’ll go back to a more earth-centered yule, but I am also very much enjoying the now.

Merry Christmas. Blessed holiday season. Joyous Noelle. Blessed Yule.  And good day to all the rest who celebrate nothing. Every day  is a celebration, even the hard ones. Someone at work the other day admonished a younger staff member to “not get old, it stinks” and I hollered out “Well, it SURE beats the alternative!” Which made everyone, even the speaker, say…oh. Right. So many of us have lost loved ones much to early, and really? It pisses me off when people say “oh, don’t get older” or “getting old sucks”. It sure isn’t easy, our bodies don’t always do what we think they should…coz in our heads? We’re still 20. But you will NEVER hear me say that getting older sucks…


….I’m just glad that you are here and reading my words, and the Mayan calendar wasn’t wrong, just misinterpreted. (or else by now we’ve all become protoplasm, and no one is reading. 🙂  <I know now that we’re still here…I just like the line about being protoplasm enough to keep it in my post-edit copy!!)

We’ve come into that darkest part of the year here in the northern hemisphere, where many of us rise and go to work in the dark, and come home the same way. When the tree’s are barren and bleak, the winds rustle up under pant legs and my skirt hem, and make us shiver and long for the heat of summer. All part of the wheel…but …it’s still kind of …well, I was going to say depressing, but that’s not the word…sere. Yes. Bland and boring. The colorful birds are rare, the air is quiet, the smell is of that dry and dusty scent that bespeaks “cold”.

Yet the “wheel” has turned, and even now we are slowly wending our way back towards the light. Back again, adding the (very, very, very) slight amounts of daylight to our days. We can’t see them, yet. The slivers are too thin. But by late January, the slivers will have added up, and if you look, you will notice that it isn’t *quite* as dark as you drive home at dusk.


I was thinking the other day about the Tsunami (Christmas, 2004)that happened…8 years ago in Thailand and other places…

I remember being in my car with my wife and family when I heard of the earthquake…the magnitude was immense and I remember saying “oh gods….there’ll be a tsnumi…why don’t they have tsnuami warnings up yet?” and an hour later hearing of the devastation.

Later, scientists said the earthquake was one of the strongest to rock earth, and had infact, tilted us on our axis, changing it. Just a wee bit.

But no one talks about that anymore. And suddenly our winters are milder (yes, I know, global warming and all is definitely a factor…but what if…?)….so what if? What if that little bit “off” has played a roll in our changing climate? Because it is decidedly true that the northeast has had several warm winters in a row, quite a phenomenon. Anyway, I just wonder.


Master has been a bit…wicked…for lack of a better word, for the last week or so. Sometimes He is quite lenient with me, so when He is in “Master-mode”…it always makes me take a mental step back. Kind of like when you turn wrong and your GPS lady says “recalculating”.

I was reading comments on aisha’s blog regarding her sanding experience which was wicked hot and funny too…and then several commentors said “don’t tell your Sir”, regarding the fact that she didn’t like something….

It’s a hard lesson to learn when you’re talking to your dominant isn’t it? I’ve *finally* almost broken myself away from just blurting out “Oh i *HATE* when blah-blah-blah”…because He will latch onto that like a hungry dog holds a bone!

Although, come to think of it, the other day when we were talking and He said something that I knew I would not like, I was just quiet…and He laughed and spoke of the fact that I was quieter than normal.

And I know he was jotting it down in his meantal “Dom” journal. Yes. That says mean-tal instead of mental. That was not an error. 🙂

More randomness…

……………am I the only one…

sky……………who sees a cloud cock?

I took this picture on the way to work a while ago (at a stoplight, just taking random sky pictures). When I got home later that night I looked at all my pics and saw the penis.

Then again..maybe it’s just me and my admittedly filthy mind..?!


On another random note, Master and nilla have a playdate scheduled (at last…!)!!!!! It’s been a long while since our last one, though not as long as for some of you, i know…and with a bit of luck, we’ll squeeze it in before the end of the year. I’m not saying exactly when, since the snow Goddess loves to fuck with me …and she’s not beyond sending a ginormous snowstorm on THE day…it’s has happened several times in the past.

The only bad part is that I have to work at my other job for part of the day…still, a short playdate is better than NO play date…that’s what I’m telling myself. I’ve actually  picked up a lot of extra hours for this job during the holidays…I’m working every day the four days before Christmas, including some time on Christmas eve day.  I’m glad of the work, to be sure. But it leaves nilla a tired girl. On the plus side? My wife has vacation that week, and it gives me a break from all the craziness that her being home engenders. Does that make me bad? Having my vanilla spouse at home for long periods of time is okay at first…but really? It gets to be really frustrating too.

It definitely curtails my time reading porn.

It definitely curtails my time writing porn.

So…yeah. Frustrating. I might as well be at work, rather than home getting pent up. And there is that Master visit to look forward to. 🙂


I’ve had a few good doses of Master time…some few stolen moments, and this past Saturday, over an hour together. And yes… we were naughty in Starbucks again. 🙂

Outside, He pinched me good. Gosh, I forgot how much pain He gives me, and so fucking easily. He just reaches out and *wham*! I’m “ouch”-ing, and moaning, and wrigging away. He pins me to the car with his body, then slides his fingers up and tickles me at the most unexpected moments, and makes me laugh like a lunatic.

I love that Man.

Earlier in the week, feeling out of sorts with the world,  I had texted Him that I needed medication.

And then quickly followed that up with a text reminding Him that He supplies the drug I need. (and He did deliver me a lovely little dose of it Saturday night)

For me…it’s true, and for you other subs out there, isn’t it?

Aren’t we  addicts, of a sort? We need our pain fix, Dammit! We need to be used, ravaged, fucked, bitten, slapped, caned, hairbrushed, ass-fucked, or what-the-fuck-ever our personal kink is. We NEED it. We CRAVE it. We really must have it to be whole, functioning people.

Having had a taste of it, there is no going back, at least for me. I cannot imagine how difficult it would be to totally snuff “nilla” and become…regular.

Boring? To be sure, oh yes.

Empty? Yes. Double yes, even.

Maybe saying that, “snuffing nilla” was a deliberate word choice by my quiet mind. Reminding me that I wasn’t fully alive back when all was just vanilla, when I was a good girl, who did all the things she had to, and never acted on any of those wildly inappropriate fantasies.

I’ve changed a lot in the past three and a half, four years. The reading, the eye-opening awareness of kaya’s blog…the fact that after I read about a particularly brutal beating and fucking that there was an actual puddle in the seat I’d been sitting on…shocked me.

Shocked me into an awareness that …in some way…I was like her.  That the idea of being beaten, and used for a fuckhole? Did something warm and wet and wonderful to me. So no, there is no turning my back on who I really am. I’m a slut. I like sex. I like being hit. I like taking pain, and I get off on it.

Until we’re together, behind closed doors again, He’ll feed me warm tidbits of what I need, a clamp here, a clothespin on my belly there.  Just a wee dose of what I need. But it will hold me…until He holds me, and gives me the full infusion of what I need most….Him, and the art of His pain.

Space Sex (1)

ever have a story just grab you by the throat, shake the fuck outta you and *make* you write it? that’s exactly what happened with this one. Stuck in my head for two days, zinging around in all that space, and then finally throttling me until I sat down, at 10:21 p.m. to write the damned thing. And so it is done. A bit on the weird side, but yanno…it is a nilla tale…ya gotta expect some weird here! And I know, I know, unfinished tales in my queue, but really ….this story threatened to hurt me if I didn’t start writing it…

He threw his duffel across the room, landing it with practiced ease on his bed. His rack wasn’t all that big, but big enough. He’d worked long and hard to secure quarters that wouldn’t make him space-crazed.  That he was here in his quarters at all, rather than on deck was pissing him the fuck off.

Yeah, so he’d been snarky. Fuck ’em.

“Fuck ’em,” he growled.

“Request not understood.” The soft, sexy, definitely female voice of his room recreation computer even sounded puzzled.

“Nevermind,” he said with a sigh, ruffling his hair. He wore it longer than most did out here. He was an individual. Not a droid. Not a space nut, not even a long-term ranger. He would do his time, earn his credits, and then settle back on Earth on some tiny island like…Bimini or one like it. Someplace peaceful, warm, with miles of blue sky and blue water all around him.

He was getting tired of the blackness of space.

Perhaps he should have taken Rissa up on her offer of some bone-melting sex. Her words, not his. Any hole in a port, he thought a touch snidely. Rissa had fucked every other body on this ship, likely including the droids. She was one horny fucking bitch, to be sure. A terrific science officer, but her pussy was on overdrive. He’d never quite managed to be “caught” by her, but tonight, she might be just what he needed.

“That’s it. I just need a good fuck. But not just a hole…maybe someone to listen to me. Someone sweet. Someone horny but obedient. Someone who wants to please me, who won’t be upset if I smack her ass while I fuck it.”

He hadn’t fucked an ass in a thousand years, it seemed. Way back in his earth days, when he was at the institute, his girlfriend. What was her name? Kayla! Yes, that was it. She had been into anal big time, and had cum like a bitch in heat. He smiled, remembering.

He jolted at the soft tap on his shoulder.

She stood there, soft perfection.

And naked.

Very, very naked. Her tits were exactly what he liked. Round, firm melons with hard nipples jutting out, seeming to beg for his touch. His fingers ached with the longing to tug them, even as his mouth filled with spit from the strong tug of desire to suck and bite.

Her waist was narrow…but not wasp-thin. He preferred his women with a bit of meat on them. Her pubs were bare. He saw the fat puffy lips and the long line of her slit disappearing between her closed thighs. Her legs were long and strong looking-perfect for wrapping around his waist as he fucked her.


He was nonplussed. Who was this? Why was she in his berth? And how soon could he get his rigid cock in one of her holes.

“I’m for you.”

“She is for you, William.” The mellifluous voice of the computer came from the air around him…and from her lips. They spoke simultaneously.

“I am yours. Your body specs were read, and you were depleted in the area of sexual activity. Computer designed me to supplement your need. Do I please you?”


“Yes?” Again, like stereophonic sound from the olden days, he heard Computer’s voice from the hidden speakers in his room, and the naked girls mouth. He shook his head.

“Do I displease you?” She sounded…dejected.

“No! No, not at all. I just…had no idea that the computer could…would…was able…to do such a thing as this. I’ve never heard of it. Ever.”

“This is for you, William; you have gone without sexual release for 31 days, and without sharing sexual release with another since you arrived on the ship.  371 days.  Other humans have coupled. You have not. Your …preference for not sharing sex with the others on the crew have been noted.”

“So…you ….designed her for me? And I can …” he paused, reaching out to touch her, his hand on her shoulder. Her skin was soft as a rose petal, and warm. A smile bloomed on her face at his touch.

“She is a working unit of soft tissue. She is usable for several days before she needs to be refreshed. She will learn your preferences.  And grow and adapt to them. If you like to bite, she will enjoy being bitten. If you like to …”

“I get it!” He interrupted the computer before she could go into any more detail.

“I get it,” he spoke slowly, stroking down her shoulder to her tit, weighing it in his palm and stroking the hard nub of her nipple with his thumb.

“You get it,” she agreed, her voice a soft whisper as she leaned into his touch.

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.

Header Toys HNT

Most of you may recall that wordwitch and her Dom, Wolf, sent me…or rather, my Master, a care package. The header picture shows them, ranked in order of my curiosity about them.

Master had me think about them, touch them, then arrange them in the order that made sense to me.

Right after dinner, I ran upstairs and got donned out in my slut outfit, and zipped back downstairs.  But before I zipped down, I laid out all the “goodie bag” stuff in the order of curiosity upon my bed. You read yesterday of the “warm up” spanking, while He watched football, and I got paddled.

I didn’t mention Him pulling me roughly to the floor, fingering me, and leaving me gasping on the edge of an orgasm, as He stepped away and laughed at my dishabille.

“you’re a mess, girl,” He says, shaking with laughter.


Why do they like to mess us up like that? *sigh*

Eventually He shuts off the tv and we go upstairs. He sees the bed and smiles. My room is very tiny, with slanted walls. Not much “swing space” so to speak.

I thank the Goddess for that.

He grabs me by my hair and orders me onto the bed. There’s been some tit pinching and some tit slapping, and ass pinching between things, but now He is all business.

And He’s dressed. His shoes are shiny. His pants are neatly pressed. His polo shirt is immaculate. He looks…like a man of business. It is a huge fucking turn on.

In point of fact, our evening together was mostly focused on pain. He finger fucked me, He used His double-insertion vibe on me, but He didn’t fuck me.

Didn’t have me suck His cock.

It was like a fantasy I’d read some time ago.

The Professional Dom. (Or somesuch like that.)

He took the first whip up into His hand. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Him checking it out. Running the falls through His fingers.  Telling me how nice it….


was constructed. How soft the….


falls were. Aren’t they, nilla?

I can’t breathe. I guess I looked like a red-headed carp. My mouth opened and closed. And then? Then? The bloody bastard took up the next one. The only real difference?

He hit me three times with that one.


That was…dunno. He doesn’t play “gentle”. We’re rough and hard and i like it that way. There was no dancing caress of whips on my ass. Oh no, it was full-force Master.

Each thing made me gasp or whimper.

I tried to get to the last two before Him, but He’s quick. Long, long falls of rubber “thread”. The kind that wrap around your hip and leave a bunch of thin red marks that persist days later. Hard to say which one I hated more, that one, or the one with the fat “s” shaped falls.

Prob’ly the Ssssssss one…. that bit into my ass like a dragon’s teeth.

He passed the lot of them to me, told me to hold them. If one fell off the bed He’d use it until His arm got tired. I cuddled them close like they were my children and it was the end of the world. Seriously.

He play “tried” to take them from me from time to time, using the opportunity to pinch my tits, or tickle me. Fucking Dom!

And then there was the game. I had to figure out the answer or He would swat me with a toy. Of His choosing. He gave me many clues. Eventually I got it (ginger snaps)…but i thought it was unfair because…well, i HATE ginger. The smell of it, the taste of it. Ugh. Shudder. Ugh. I always have, too.  I remember making ginger snaps for my grandfather when I was in high school taking Home Ec. He adored them and it was all I could do to make them for him. Ugh.

Anyway, I got it just before the deadline. Or maybe He did hit me some after that…that’s about the time things got fuzzy.

And about the time He flipped me onto my back and started seriously fucking with my brain. And my pussy. Oh yeah. Pussy grabs, and intense finger fucking have a way of throwing me way out into sub space.

Way way out into subspace. And far, far away from those header toys.  Yes, those are safely tucked away until next time. When, He tells me, that we must continue our research.

“Don’t forget, nilla, I owe Wolf a report about your “fear order” …and we just didn’t have time to delve into that this time. So, yes, those toys will *definitely* come to our next playtime.”

And then He laughs, that deep Dom laugh.

Gee, thanks, Wolf.

Pain and Sex

There are a ton of images floating in my head. Upstairs. Downstairs. In the kitchen, in my room. So much that I am still processing. So much I want to hold close. So much I want to say.

I want to start here, though. At the junction of pain and sex. Where blows to my body make me leak. Early on, right after dinner, He spanked me, bare hands on my ass. His touch turns me on, lights my internal slut engine. Is it the beating? Or is the feeling of Him touching me?  Some cosmic pairing of His pain and my lust seem to slam together with every blow, sending searing jolts of sex between my legs, with every slap of His hand on my throbbing ass.

And oh! The feeling of His skin touching mine. A caress, then a slap.  His hands are strong. He pinches me,  as if sizing up my butt for more. And then it comes. Another slap. Then a thud. He has this way of striking me with the heel of His hand in a painful punchy-esque slap.  My butt goes from shock at the initial blows, to a tingle, to a throb. I feel the heat burning up towards him, and down to my sex.

Which do I crave more in that moment, pain or touch?

Don’t know. All I know is that there is need, one that is  deep, burning, intense.  Need for more more more of the slaps. Need for the touch, for the brutal blows to keep coming. Need for His Beast, need for Him.

He makes me wanton, makes me moan and grunt. Every slap makes me whimper just a bit. Yet I remain, face pushed into the couch, ass up and available to Him. Do I try to rise up? I think I did. I remember His hand pushing me back down, His voice telling me not to move.

My hair is a tangled mess. My ass throbs. My pussy leaks.

And I remain, face-first on the couch, kneeling on the floor. He’s slapping me. It hurts, but it’s good, too. There is no rhyme, no pattern. He hits when He wants to, where He wants to, how hard He wants to.

And then He stops.

His fingers slip down my asscrack, and I hear Him “Hmmmmm” as He finds my lower folds.

He leans over my back, growls into my ear.

“You’re wet.”

That’s all. He says nothing else, just a Master’s comment on His property. And that makes me wetter. More wanton. I want Him to fuck me.

Instead, the couch moves as He shifts.

And sits on my back to watch the football game on the television. And to spank. To spank. To drum-beat spank upon my bottom.

Turning me on with the disharmony of His strikes, the warmth of His ass on me, the weight and  presence of Him, using me as His chair.

“The couch,” His voice comes from far away, “is far too soft. You, slut, are just right.”

He’s correct (as usual)…everything, everything, is “just right.”



to feel the grasp of His fingers tangled in my hair. To feel the pull of His desires molding me to His needs.

to feel the rush and surge of adrenaline as the mask slides over my eyes, as I am touched by His hands, His toys.

to feel.

to be.

I dream

of Him pressing me into the corner of the room, squeezing my breast, tugging my nipple.  And of His mouth…on mine, on that nipple, on my neck. Of His teeth, biting into that tender spot on my shoulder….

I dream of the liquid heat of U/us…sweat, and sex juice, tears and saliva; of the silken glide of His body over mine.

A streaming series of vignettes:

Hand in hair, head back, throat exposed, teeth nipping along it

His fist on my tit, while His other hand pinches my arm, guiding me to the bed with both hand holds leaving His mark

His voice, rich and Dommish, as He tells me He will hurt me; that He will stretch my ass and fuck it hard. That I can shake my head no, but that doesn’t matter a whit to Him…He knows me. Knows what a little cunt I am, what a little pain slut I am.

The press of His body on mine as He pins me to the bed, His hand casually holding both my wrists, while His other hand is torturing my clit and pussy…making me cum again and again.

I’ve tried not to think of these things for so long. And now we’re heading closer to the day that I am almost *positive* will work for us…and the dreams begin.

Dreams of lust.

Of sex.

Of dirty, indecent acts, performed with love and dominance and wild sexual abandon.


I lust…

Behind the Door

The sound is wet and syrupy.

She blushes as His hand glides between those sodden folds, as His finger probes experimentally into the hidden hole. Pushing in, all the way and pulling out, the sound is wet and syrupy again.

Her face is pressed against His throat, certainly He feels the heat of her cheeks.  Her ass is pressed against the back of the door, feeling the cold from outside pressing in on her heated flesh.

The harsh rasping breathing she hears comes from her own throat. Raw, ragged, like a runner struggling for the last yards of the race; her heart is beating at that same ragged pace.

Wet sounds  squelch up from between her parted thighs. Her toes curl inside the shoes, her nipples harden and press against His leather jacket. The zipper runs between her tits, coiled teeth scraping at her flesh as His hand moves up and down, working her flesh.

His fingers jab up into the soft wetness, curling, beckoning  her body to come.

The sound is wet and syrupy as she obeys.