Need

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.

But.

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.

Dr. Strangeguy~Unfeeling (part 1)

“Tell me, little girl, why are you here?”

“Well, uhm…”

“Now, now, none of that temporizing. I’ve been on the edge of retirement, yet your call brought us here to my office today. Speak.”

“It’s gone. I-I’m afraid I …lost it.”

Her head hung low, her long red hair hiding her face. Her hands clenched and unclenched in her lap. In her sandal-clad feet, even her toes, painted a brilliant purple to match the lone streak in her hair, curled tight. His finger, bent from his years, caught her chin and lifted her face.

Concern was clear on his face. The sharp eyes seemed to peer into her.

“It’s time to breathe, time to tell me all.”

“I…”

Her eyes fluttered downward, looking at his feet. He’d never professionally dressed for these sessions. Part of her thought it might be to comfort his patients, who came from the hinterlands of Maine. Part of her was certain he had way too much “don’t giveafuck” to even notice what he dragged on each morning. The incongruity of his nobbly toes peaking out from ancient birkenstocks made a small smile flit across her mouth.

“Here. Look at me.”

There, that was the tone that she could never resist. The firm command of a Dom–whether he was a doctor or a landscaper–always made her obedient. Her blue eyes rose to his; nerves made butterflies dance in her belly.

“It’s…hard for me to talk about this with you staring into me,” she whispered.

He grinned. Her body clenched for a moment. A smiling Dom, even one who was not acknowledging himself as one, always made those areas of her body waken. This, this was why she drove so far to see Dr. Strangeguy. It never failed to help her slough off the stupor of her ‘regular’ life.

“Continue,” he said, his tone firm. She nearly rolled her eyes at that order–what therapist demanded words? Weren’t they supposed to be content to let people move through things at their own pace?

“I…have…been…stifled lately. For a long time all my stories had left me. And now, now I can feel them there, under my skin. But I don’t have a way to let them out.”

“I see,” he said, his finger still firmly under her chin. She felt a tiny loss  when he moved away. The heat from even that slight touch burned neatly in a fingertip sized circle on her skin.

He moved away, behind her, then passed in front of her again.

“Do you do your laundry every day?”

She blinked. What?

“What?” she said, echoing the confusion in her head.

“Do you wash your dishes, take out your trash, mow your yard, go to work?”

“Well…well, of course I do,” she replied, bemused.

“So you are making time for all these other parts of you, but ignoring this other, equally essential part?”

“Well…” she said, then paused.

She shook her head, frowned. It hadn’t occurred to her until he spelled it out that way.

“I guess…I am.” Her frown deepened.

“Sit.”  He shoved her, hard, one large hand pressed between her breasts. Falling back into the chair, she was too stunned to protest.  “Stay,” he said, moving deeper into the office.

Sit. Stay. Was she a fucking dog now? A protest rose to her lips, yet when she opened them to speak, a hard rubber ball slipped inside.

“Waaagh,” she tried to forestall him around the ball gag.

“No, no more waiting for what it is you really need, slut. You are a slut, as you have acknowledged here before. You pay me to help you. Sit, stay, and be a good girl.”

A blindfold slipped over her eyes. There was almost silence in the room, though she strained to hear. Rough rope wrapped around her left wrist, securing her arm to the chair. Her lips moved, though to protest or moan she wasn’t certain. She felt the hot splat of saliva on her left breast, soaking into her blouse and bra. There was a tremor in her belly now as her right wrist was also secured.

“I’ve thought about your problem. It’s time. Specifically, time management. To slow down time, we’ll keep that blindfold on.”

A rough hand rested briefly on the top of her head.

“Your other issue is touch. Staying in touch with all the parts of you. If part of you ceases to function, it puts a stress on the rest of you. I see the tension in your body as you sit there. Some of that is nerves–that’s good. But some of that is because you’re out of practice, out of touch, with who you really are.”

He paused and she heard him moving around the room again.

“We can cure that easily enough. You’ve paid for a multiple hour session. And a long session is exactly what you need. And what you’ll get.”

She felt the rope loosening from her wrists.

“Stand,” he spoke curtly.

She stood.

“Remove your clothing.”

“Wha?” she spoke wetly around the ball gag.

A hard swat on her ass make her squeak, jolting.

“Naked. Now.”

She obeyed, shivering at the knowledge that he was now looking at her. A Dom doctor with a naked patient. He walked around her. She felt the brush of air on her back, her butt, her nipples as he moved. Another quick shiver ran down her shoulders. Her nipples tightened. She felt vulnerable, exposed.

Excited.

Still, he didn’t touch her. Moved away from her, in fact, across the room where she couldn’t hear clearly. The gag in her mouth made her drool, and she felt the splatter of it on her chest. Ugh.

“I believe we shall start with this, my dear,” he said from behind her. She felt the roughness, felt his hands–how had she thought them too gnarled?–run nimbly around her back, crossing the rope, pulling it tightly around her chest, cross again on her back. He stepped to the front of her and began to wrap one tit. It tingled. It hurt gently. It was delicious. He wrapped the other tit, then continued to carry the rope up around her back. Her arms were now bound behind her, her tits thrust up and out. She wished she could see, they felt amazing.

Hearing the sound of the seat confused her. What was he doing? Sitting there?  Looking at her? She stood, shifting from one foot to the other. Nervous. Her tits began to ache. As suddenly as they felt good, they began to throb. She moaned.

“There we go. Now you’re ready.”

The first strike of the cane against her nipple made her yelp. But she quickly lost count of the tap-rap-tapping against one breast, then the other. It hurt. It throbbed. She yelped often, especially when he struck across her engorged nipples.

“If you think it hurts now, just wait until the clamps go on,” he whispered into her ear. “Oh, by the way, you have pussy juice running down your leg. I do believe you’re feeling again. Feeling fine, I’d say. And still so much session time. I might even go over time, no charge of course.”

He laughed softly against her ear.

Shuddering at the tone, the caress of warm breath on the tender orb, she came.

 

 

 

 

 

Perverted Pleasures (2)

They hadn’t told her of the butt plug that awaited her in the limo, nor of the resounding, over-his-knee spanking that Master delivered as they pulled away from the curb. His hand was large and covered a huge amount of ass with every blow. He spanked hard, down her thighs, across her hips, up even to her back, the slaps echoing inside of her somehow.

It was as she lay there, across his lap, gasping through the tears, that she felt the probing against her pussy lips.

“She’s so fucking wet.”

“She’s a slut. She’s gonna be wet.”

“Good for her–lotta lube–the natural kind!”

The two chuckled a moment. The large hand pressed against the base of her neck, as his other slapped hard at the bottom of her butt. One slap, two, six. The same fucking spot over again. Nine, twelve slaps. Fifteen. Twenty one.

“How many was that, slut?”

“Twenty-one,” she spoke, the sob hitching in her voice.

“Ah.”

He struck again.

“I have a fondness for round bottoms, and round numbers,” he said with a laugh. “Proceed, Peter.”

There was pressure against her asshole. Though she tried to lift her head, Master’s hand was like an anchor, holding her in place. As the pressure grew, she tightened her anus.

“Fighting it.”

“Good enough. She’ll learn.”

“I’ll get the rubber mallet…”

“WHAT?!” she squeaked, her voice snaking around his shoelaces.

There was a sudden firm push and whatever he was doing landed deep inside her asshole.

“OH FUCK! That hurts! OUCH!”

“Stop fighting when he puts things in your ass, then.”

“It burns.”

“Does that when he uses toothpaste for lube. It’ll tingle for a while. Remember to not piss him off again, slut or he’ll slather it with icyhot gel…then you’ll really have an ass of pain.”

He tugged her up from his lap, and pressed her to the floor.

“Sit there. Yes, right there with your ass stuffed full of rubber. I know it hurts, doesn’t it?”

He handed her a bottle of water and picked up his phone. In a moment he was busy texting as she sat, ignored. A foot prodded her tit.

“My cock wants your mouth. Turn around.”

Sir’s limp cock hung between his splayed knees. Even flaccid it was big. She scooted forward, wincing at the fullness in her ass. It felt like she needed to take the biggest shit in her life. Her anus throbbed. Her lips encircled his shaft, sucking the head into her mouth, the thick head resting on her tongue.

“Right there. No…no sucking. Just hold it in your mouth and keep it warm and wet.”

His fingers reached down, grabbing her nipples and tugging as if to move her closer.

“No–don’t move. I want to see how far these babies will stretch.”

She moaned around his cock as he pulled slowly, firmly, steadily. It felt like he was trying to rip her tits off of her chest by her nipples. Yet she also felt like someone had set a match to her clit. The throb there was incredible. Her body was so alive!

“No cumming.”

The deep voice of her Master interrupted her introspection. She couldn’t really speak with a cock in her mouth, one growing steadily firmer.

“Wa Ma trr?”

She tried, but earned a cuff to her ear.

“No talking with my dick in your mouth, cunt!”

It was incredible, the connection between her nipples and her cunt, the way every jostle of the limo tugged her tits this way and that, adding to the ache that his fingers coaxed from them. It was incredible how wet she was, how much she wanted to suck. He was a stranger, but all normal “fears” had flown out the window. Here she was running on pure adrenaline.

The car slowed, then stopped. She didn’t move, hadn’t been instructed to move.

“You’ll need this.”

Master wrapped something heavy around her throat. The click of a hasp and the weight of leather leash let her know that he’d collared her, something that she’d looked forward to. While wearing his collar, he owned her fully. Lost in the rapture of giving her fate to another, she barely noticed what else was going on. Hands were busy on her body; it took a moment to realize that she was being stripped. Surely they didn’t mean to have her exit the car totally buck naked?

The wash of air as the door opened proved that they did.

 

 

In The Elevator

note: I am jumping all around in timing here, because I write what memories come floating up to the surface of my brain. This one has been begging to be written, though you will see it is sparse of words. 

We are done. The day has wound down to evening. I am dressed, though He throws me on the bed to try for one more round. I would have. I really wanted it. Wanted Him desperately, again. Despite cumming a few hundred times. Despite being totally drained. Well…except. He can make me squirt like crazy and that’s another story for another day. But it is also the reason I had to say “oh please…Master…no?…” because I was in my street clothing and there would be no way to hide the big wet stain that I’d walk into my house with.

(And let’s face it. If He had really wanted to? It would have happened. I think He was testing me. Since I was kinda walking like a drunken sailor by then anyway, it was more of a “lets see what happens when I *ask* the slut if we should have one more O for the road” rather than “I *want* the slut to have one more for the road and she can go home in a soaked skirt no matter what.”  Because He’s never going to do something for His pleasure that would out me. It is one of the basic underlying tenets of our relationship.)

We pack our things. Okay, packing my things took all of two minutes. His? Closer to 30. Toys *everywhere*.

*snorts out a laugh*

Toys.

Funny the innocuous name we give to weapons of pain and depravity, isn’t it?

Toys, for the many whips, the nipple clamps, the weights. To be called toys infers that they are lightweight “things”…things of humor and of an easygoing manner. How can dolls and remote control cars  and anal plugs all wear the label of “toy”…? But I digress…

We leave our room behind, head to the bank of elevators. Finally it arrives, and when the doors open, we’re surprised to see a young couple inside. Master steps in, His back to the back wall, while I stand just in front of Him, my back to the doors. I keep my eyes down, though I’m grinning.

And then He starts.

“So, what do you think? $120 for the sheets?”

I blink, shoot Him a quick uneasy glance,  and feel the blush creeping up my cheeks. I don’t even dare to glance at the young woman and man beside us. He didn’t really just say that, did He? Like…out loud? I decided to play it cool and ignore Him.

I know. Like that’s gonna help, right? He blithely continues on. I look at Him again, quickly. His face is composed into a thoughtful expression as He stares me down. Smug. Daring. Amused.  He knows *exactly* what He’s doing.

He’s embarrassing the crap out of me.

“And then there’s the coverlet. What do you think that runs? Maybe another $100? Or $120?”

He pauses, cocks His head at me, watching me glower at Him, while I am by now beet red.

“Geeze, girl, that’s almost $250! You’re so messy.”

He shakes His head, tut tuts at me. I drop my head, torn between mortification and the need to have a gut-busting laugh. I’m *intensely* embarrassed, and amazed that He is using that against me. I’ve never been that turned on by humiliation.

Except then.

My cunt was throbbing, my face was fiery red, and I am wishing that I could melt through the floor. Finally, to my intense relief, the elevator lands at the lobby, and the doors opened. The couple scurries out, and He says, while they are still in earshot, mind you,

“Well, they seemed nice. I wonder what they’ll be talking about at the bar tonight? Likely you and your shameful behavior of wrecking sheets, nilla.”

Exit, stage left.

Quickly.

Act One

Time stands still.

She sits, hands in her lap as He has directed her. The blindfold snuffs out the daylight in the room beyond. The television across the room blares out its political drivel; it was on to drown out her cries, she knows. From before, when she first came into the room with Him, and He drove her ruthlessly over the edge and into orgasm. On loudly to drown out the moans and mewlings of pleasure, as His hand works between her slapped-apart thighs, her nose pressed to the wall.

It is loud to drown out her yelps of pain when He hits her. To drown out the sound of His hand striking the round white bottom of her, and the sounds she makes when His toys smack ruthlessly upon her exposed flesh…thighs and ass, arms and tits.

For now the only sound is the television, blaring across the room.

She measures each breath as she was taught in yoga, drawing slow, deep, purposeful inhalations to help quiet her racing heart. He’s gone. He’s been in and out several times, answering His phone where she cannot hear the conversation.

There is no time, only breath.

There is no fear; she trusts Him implicitly. There are nerves, and they well up, through her breathing, racing her heart and making her shiver. Her nipples bead into tight pearls, then relax again when her breath calms.

The sound of the key-card in the lock is loud. Or perhaps she is only attuned to it. The door opens, the sound of nearly silent feet. The pressure of air moving across her bare shoulders as the door opens, then closes.

Outside, she sits, poised and perfect as He has set her to be. Inside she is a morass of emotions. Fear rises, is suppressed.  Nerves make her skin feel sensitive. As He begins to speak, she swallows hard, trying to loosen the grip of emotions tying up her throat. She daren’t move; He has bid her to sit, to remain just so, and don’t fucking move.

His voice is firm. “This is my slut. Slut, this is Sir D.”

She cannot speak. It is real. The scene has moved from fantasy to reality. He wants her to speak, she can feel it. But there is that lump in her throat that prohibits speech. And the swirling roil of thoughts suddenly jangled in her head that prevents rational comment.  Yet, they are waiting. Weakly, her hand lifts from her thigh. “Hello Sir” she barely whispers.

She feels him approach. Which Him is it? The hands are gentle but firm on her head, pulling her forward. She can feel the heat of Him. But the smell of him is not that of her Master.

He directs her. “Put your hand here.”

“Unzip this.”

“Reach inside and take out my cock.”

“That’s a good girl. Take out my big cock.”

“mmmm. Put in in your mouth, slut.”

She obeys. She is excited, nervous. She’s being tested here, auditioned. There is  the worry that she will let down her Master in some way. And then…there is no time for anything except being in the moment, the moment that his girthy cock fills her mouth, stretches her ruby lips around the shaft, and gags her.

The hands continue to hold her head, driving his thick pole into the recesses of her mouth, her throat. She coughs around it, gags, which makes him moan. He holds her there for a minute. She doesn’t let herself pull away…or she hopes not.

The puddle grows between her legs, and she knows there will be a wet spot on the couch.

As if he could read her mind, he pulls her foward. “On your knees! Lick my balls! Suck them into your mouth. Yeah..yeah…good. Lick the shaft…good slut..”

She laps, licks, sucks. He is different in taste, size and texture from her Master. She can’t tell from her gloved hand, but her mouth knows.  His voice comes from long away, even as his hand presses her hard against his groin.

“Take out your tits. I wanna see your tits.” She obeys, tugging them from her bra. She feels the rub of the heavy black lace on the underside of her breasts, the pinching grab of his hands. As she sucks, he tugs. As she gags, he pulls.  Her knees ache, but she doesn’t feel it, not really. It’s just part of the now. Another layer to the sensation sandwich she is consuming.

When he bids her to rise, takes her hands and pulls her across the room, she knows there is more to come. Much, much more.

 

Lust

Waiting….

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.

Yes!

I lust…

BJ

Her head throbbed where His hands had grabbed gobbets of hair. Using them as handles, He drove her face relentlessly onto His cock. Her pussy throbbed in time to the drumbeat in her head, yet she held posture.

His cock was hard and heavy and hot in her mouth.

Her jaw ached from the strain of keeping teeth away from tender flesh, her lips were rubbed raw from the repeated scraping of each hard thrust.

Her throat gagged and trembled each time the head of his cock slipped lower, slipped deeper.

He paused, cock buried in her face, fingers clenching hard in her hair. He groaned, and she sucked slowly, gently, pulling air out of her mouth and adding suction.

His groan grew louder.

“Goood, good cocksucking slut…” and He ground His pelvis hard against her face. Her nose was smushed against crinkled hairs, tickling her and making her want to sneeze. The faint taint of piss came to her, along with the musky smell of cock.

He pulled out and she gasped a fast breath. She knew, from experience, that now He would fuck her face like a cunt, hard, fast, deep, without curcease until He came.

Each thrust was a torment of twisted pleasure and pain. Her throat grew sore with the scraping of cock on tender flesh, and her repeated gagging.

Her pussy was dripping now- she felt it splash onto her ankles. He fucked her mouth harder, and it was all she could do to stay upright. Her hands were bound to her thighs, her knees were sore.

She felt the telltale tightening, tasted the first drips of cum. He ripped out of her mouth and stepped back, spouting gouts of cum onto her face, her tits, her hair.

“Cumslut,” He grunted with each expulsion, until she was coated in His juice.

He freed her left hand. “Find it, and eat it all, slut,” His voice was dark and hard as He sat back into His chair and watched her capture each line of cum, and eat it like the hungry whore she was.

 

Cinched

It was on the bed when she got home from work. It had been a grueling day. Her boss was on a rampage, and nothing pleased him. While she was normally sympathetic, as she knew his divorce was painfullly fresh, today had been just so awful. He had brought several of the first year girls to tears, and she had come amazingly close herself. Gah!  She shook her head in frustration. She needed this job, she loved the job but now she needed an asprin. Or a good hard spanking and some brutal sex. Something she didn’t have to think about, just accept.

Stopping in the downstairs bathroom to remove her clothing, shedding her work day into the hamper, she slowly went through the house naked. She liked the feeling of her tits slowly bobbling as she swayed through the house to the kitchen. She took down a glass from the cabinet, and turned from the faucet looking for the asprin bottle over the stove. There was a note.

                                   Go upstairs, slut. Prepare yourself.

How the fuck did He know. Just Know. She smiled. Took a sip of the water. She didn’t think she’d need that asprin after all! Upstairs, in the center of her bed lay another note. On top of a corset.

It was stunning. Ruby red satin, with black ribbons running down the sides. The demi cups would, she knew, lift her tits and shape them into pure sex.  She opened the note, sitting on the edge of the bed, running her finger up and down the smooth silky fabric.

                         Put it on, slut. I will be coming to cinch you up.

She slid the corset up. But wait! A corset like this needed the proper staging to fully set it off. She’d been waiting a long time for this opportunity, to surprise him, stagger him, slay him with her charms. She darted to her underwear drawer, finding the articles she had hidden there months ago. Quickly she tore open the packages, and slid the fishnet thigh high stockings up one leg, then the other. The black lace thong panties went on next. She went back to the closet and found the heels she’d hidden at the back of her closet. They were stilleto’s, not her usual style at all. All shiny black leather, 6 inch heels and a thin black ribbon to tie about her ankles.

She slid into the corset. Even untightened, she could see the beauty of her outfit. She brushed and fluffed her hair, retouched her make up, making sure to redden her lips to match the corset,  then reclined on the bed, like a vintage slut. Heel of one shoe dug into her comforter, knee bent at a 45 degree angle. Other leg crossing over. Leaned back on her elbows, head thrown back as she heard the door downstairs open, then shut quietly.

Hearing his footsteps on the stairs, she felt her cunt moisten. She canted her head to be able to see his face when he walked into the room.

He stopped. Although he was a man to keep his feelings masked, there was no mistaking the hunger that lept into his eyes when he saw his slut splayed across the bed.  He took in the slut shoes, the hosery, his gift to  her. She’d wanted a corset for a very long time.

He wondered why he’d waited so long.  He could barely wait to cinch her up. Tie her tight within the satin wrapped steel. Swallow her small hands with his big fist. Throw those slut legs over his shoulder, bend her in half, and fuck her within an inch of her life.

Crossing to the bed, he slid his finger from her glossy heel to her glistening cunt. Grabbed her waist and flipped her over.  Grabbed the ties like reins, and began the ride of his life.