Things You’d Only Hear From A D/s Couple

No, this is not a category on Jeopardy, but I’d bet many of my pervie peeps would do well with this, yes? *laughs*

“Master, I simply do not understand your fascination with my asshole.”

“Nilla, I *love* your asshole.

Yes. He did say this. It made me laugh. It made him prove it.


“Master, I’m so going to pinch  your nipples.”

“Ha. Good luck with that slut.”

I tried. I got a quick flick in and almost…almost … caught that little man-nip between my fingers before his fingers, firmly affixed to my belly flab, made me shriek and let go.

He, for the record, did not.

Let go, that is.

Not until I fell over on the bed and cried and whimpered and pleaded.

And yes.

I tried again, and yes, met with the same fate.


“You really like pushing the envelope, slut. I only hope your ass will be able to cash the check your smart mouth is writing.”

Catching the ever-so-slight warning in his tone, I shut the fuck up.


*gales of silly, hysterical laughter as he flops on top of me*. He pins me in place and says “no one has more fun than you, nilla.”

Immediately he begins  the slow, tortuous tickling of my underarms with his gently brushing fingers (SO BRUTAL! Gentle brutality to be sure!), alternating with the swirling tip of his tongue in my ear canal and outer ear. I know it’s an erogenous zone for many, but for me it is a very, extremely ticklish area.

I wish I could stop laughing.

I laugh until I’m gasping for breath, crying.

He stops and bites my shoulder fiercely.

I stop laughing and arch, screaming with the pain.

It’s fucking devious and I cannot keep up with it.


“You’re a real slut, nilla.”

“Thank you Master.”





“Master, I’d Like You to Meet….

….Mr. Hitachi.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In other words, I was fucked.

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

And laughing.


Pussy Burglar (3)

She was naked, tied quite firmly to the bed. His bed. The bed that she’d had all but two seconds to get out of before he’d caught her again. The miserable fuck. Her clothing wasn’t strewn about on the floor. Oh no, not for this guy. He’d shredded it with that fucking Swiss Army knife, into chunks and ribbons until none of it would ever be wearable again. On the top of the pile the ace bandage with which she had bound her breasts lay in long strips, mocking her. It was that which had gotten her to this state.  Poking at the pile of debris with his toe and looking at her, he flashed her a smug look.

“Don’t worry about this, pussycat. You won’t need these anyway. I plan to keep you naked and right here for a long, long time.”

He’d smiled at her then. A smile that was feral, hungry, and just a bit mocking. As if he knew that this was terrifying.

And exciting.

How she hated to admit that to herself. But somewhere in the deepest darkest pit of her mind there was a tiny little spark that thrilled to being bested. Not in an “omg take me I’m yours” kind of way. This went deeper, into the animal part of her brain, where dark fantasies occasionally made their way to her dreams. Yet here she was, definitely not dreaming. His next words were hard reality, and chilling.

“Oh, by the way, pussycat–feel free to scream. The staff is away for a few days. They’re used to my occasional need for solitude. We’ll have plenty of that for the next few days. And as I’m sure you noticed while you were casing the joint, to speak in your vernacular, there are no neighbors.”

She stared at him, wanting to strike out at him, at the smartass bastard’s face. To poke him in the eyes, to bite and watch him struggle. To tie him to the bed and…and..she had no idea what. She glared at him as he stood there, smug asshole, staring down at her, looking at her body. Ogling her. Standing at the end of the bed holding a feather, for fuck sake, stripped down to plaid boxers.

“You look ridiculous. You look like an ass.”

All the epitaphs in the world and that was what came out of her mouth. She all but rolled her eyes at her lame response. He just smirked at her, holding the feather and examining it.

“It looks so silly, I know. A little feather like this, just fluttering in my fingers. But.”

He let the word hang there for a minute.

“In the right hands, pussycat, this will destroy your will. Remember what I promised you.”

Her eyes met his. Hell yes she remembered, but damned if she’d say as much to him. The fucking asshat. His eyebrow rose as they fought a silent, deadly war.

“I won’t beg you for anything, you jerk.”

“I guess we’ll see then, won’t we?”

He trailed the tip of the feather from her knee to her ankle along the inner curve of her calf. Her leg twitched at the barely-there touch. His eyes followed the gently curved tip of the pheasant feather. She was embarrassed and shocked to be here, bested by this….this…subhuman! And tied open, displayed. 

“You’re a real piece of work, you bastard,” she spat. “You need to let me go. NOW.”

There was no reaction other than a faint lift to the corner of his mouth. Her head rocked side to side, her wrists curled into fists, tugging on her restraints. She barely moved an inch, and wound up with a face full of hair for her struggles. She hoped he’d get mad, react to her, say something. Anything.

Yet his eyes only followed the path of the feather tickling over and around her calf and foot. It danced over her toes, making her hiss and try to wriggle away, but the tenacious thing followed her moves to evade, effortlessly.

“Stop!” The word came out as a giggle, but he didn’t even look at her.

“Please! Bastard!”

Over, around, teasing.

Wriggling. Writhing. Tugging. Laughing.

“Fuck! FUCK! omg…” This last as the feather caressed the bottom of her foot. Up and down the arch, under the toes, around the heel, then back up her calf.

This time it didn’t stop at her knee, but moved up her inner calf. Up, around, over the top, around towards the far side, then down, down to torment her other calf, her foot.

She laughed. Cried. Cried laughing. And laughing became begging as the tip caressed her belly. As it circled her belly button drawing ticklish figure eights around and around until she wanted to scream. And when she did, tears rolling down her cheeks, the tip of the feather flicked higher, teasing at the curve of ribs, the underside of one plump breast then the other.

She barely noticed when his finger entered her. Shuddered when his thumb began to rub her clit as the finger was joined with another, as it fluttered away inside her belly. It registered that the tickling on the outside resembled the tickling inside her but she was beyond caring.

Something inside her built to a furious frenzy. Her words were begging, panting things asking for who knew what; her nipples rose as if to join the pleas.

“I told you I would make you beg,” he said from a hundred miles away, as the orgasm crashed through her, sending her spinning into oblivion.


She hated him.

When she woke from the spin through space, she was sweat soaked. Sex soaked. Shaking, curled on her side with his arm around her. He was naked. She was naked.  His fingers caressed her tits, pinching and pulling and twisting her nipples until the need grew deep between her legs. Her pussy throbbed and she whimpered aloud as his fingers trailed down her body to stroke her clit.

She begged again, hating him for it, for building the need so intensely. She’d never had sex with anyone that came even close to this.

He’d fucked her from behind as his hands continued to stroke and tease and hurt her tits, until he’d pulled out, and pushed her to her belly.

“Knees down, ass up, pussycat,” he’d said, tugging her into position.

“Wider.” Hands slapped her inner thighs and she moved them apart, feeling humbled by the exposure. He kept doing that, just kept finding ways to make her feel like …like a slut.

“I’m not your whore,” she’d mumbled, but of course he’d heard.

“You’re whatever I want you to be.”

The words were spoken in a quiet, firm voice, and shocking to absorb. There was no time to retort as he’d thrust his cock into her, the position allowing him to fill her deeper, rub all the right places. She swore she could have traced the shape of his cock along her belly he was so deeply embedded in her. His hips swiveled, making her gasp. His balls rubbed against her pussy lips, the gentle movement bumping her excited clit.


Never had she been fucked like this. She was full of him, surrounded by him, undone cell-by-cell by him. The orgasm built like a wave, like a nuclear burst. Her head was going to explode, as the pressure grew, the need to release just growing stronger. Yet he was holding back, just enough to keep her on the edge.

“Please,” she sobbed, “I’m so close…”

“Pussycat needs to cum, doesn’t she?”

“Yes, gawd yes…please…”

“If you insist…” His voice sounded dubious.

She was on fire, the need rippling through her like the promise of rain on a hot summer day.

“Yes, please, please yes…so…oh gawd…please…” her breath hissed out as she was there, just there, hanging on the very edge….yet she hadn’t expected what had come next.

He’d popped his thumb into her asshole.

On the heels of her outraged gasp of shock, her cunt clamped down on his shaft, and she’d had the orgasm of her life. She could feel the juices squirting from her, feel the quick hard throb as her anus protested the intrusion, feel her pussy squirming and twitching along the hard rigid length of him.

She could also feel him laughing.

She hated him.

bruises and bewbies

We met for ice cream on Sunday night. Our favorite place is closing soon for the season and He invited me down for what might be our last two scoops until next year.

It was chilly. It’s 49 as I write this; I’m guessing it was in the low 50’s and falling fast as the sun set–and we were doubly chilled coz, you know, ice cream.

I suggested we move to my car (He is super fastidious and doesn’t like food in His car. Me? With kiddo’s? hahahahahaha…don’t be redunculous!

We sat there, much warmer out of the wind. And then He began. Pinching. Hair pulling. Trying to pop my ice cream on my nose. He made me giggle–and whimper. Oh ouch my arms! He pinches like a fucking lobster.

And He’s so fucking funny about it. His eyes heat up, His hands dart out, and then He’s frigging tickling me. Remember I wrote about those fucking tickles just yesterday? Gods, I laugh and squirm…

Finally we finish our cones, and He pulls me down across His lap with a fierce tug on my ponytail. And while there, slides His hands into my vee-necked shirt, pinching and pulling on my tits. Finding my nipples, He rolls them. Tugs them. Twists them. Pinches them.

I’m squirming, moaning, whimpering…and then crash into orgasm. Geezus!

He pushes me up, then attacks my arm and thigh again, pinching, pinching. His eyes shift to my tits.


I’m across the two seats again, head in His lap. I struggle, and try to pinch HIS nipples…He catches my hand, secures it, and  proceeds to work my tits again. I’m gasping and breathing hard…it hurts a lot…but I’m also so turned on I’m about to explode…and He stops.

Just before I cum.

“Get up, slut.” And He pushes me upright. I slump against the door, panting.

“I was so close…” I moan.

“I know,” He says, and laughs.

There is more  horseplay, more pinching, more tit mauling, and I cum again from His hands on my tits. (And today of all days I wore black all stained. Tsk.)

I’m bruised, and tired.

Filled with ice cream–and Him.

I’d say I’m sated, but that would be a lie…I’m never really sated with Him. I always want more.

I think He likes that.


HNT~Bad Girl

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Then There’s the One With the Lady in the Parking Lot

I got so busy writing stories this past week that I forgot to tell you all this story from last weekend with Master…my bad! I’m trying to write as much as possible and set to auto-post since no one is certain whether or not we’ll lose power here in New England or not. (It seems likely, as I edit this Sunday night, that we will be powerless by Monday evening…then again I’m all about being powerless, right?! :))

This will be the week leading up to Master and I having a playtime meeting, and there are many, many, many tales to tell of that…(as well as much anticipation and nerves!)…and what is a Master-nilla meet without some kind of natural disaster sticking its fingers into the mix. That’s happened more times than I care to remember, actually! So, without further ado, this is the tale from our time together, a week ago!

Master and I had a brief bit of face time last Saturday after I got out of work. I bring Him a treat, and He pokes, and pinches and generally tortures me.

We meet in a parking lot in a public place. It gets a fair amount of traffic, but it’s not like a grocery story or a mall. On a dead-end street, the only traffic going there is meant to be going to the gym. We’ve been meeting there for weeks, and park at the farthest spot away from the building, in the back corner. Some days I go sit in His vehicle, if the weather is inclement. Most days we stand outside and play. He tickles me ferociously, and I laugh hysterically. I have a loud laugh (ask aisha)…and He reaalllly is wicked to me. Tickling is torture, guys. Seriously.

But last Saturday, He wouldn’t let me out of my car. He reaches in and pinches my belly, my tits…and then He tickles me. I’m gasping and laughing and yelping…and then He grabs my ponytail (despite the haircut He still has a long handle to grab) and thrusts my head down beside my door, so I’m bent in half, my head almost on my knees.

And He pinches me so fucking hard I’m crying and gasping, only to be laughing hysterically moments later as He reaches up and attacks my armpit.

Finally He lets me up, and I slap at Him, and He pokes me, stepping back as I reach out to pinch at Him.

And a young woman in a car we didn’t notice pulls up behind us (but not too close) and yells..”OH MY GOD ARE YOU OKAY?”

And I’m laughing hysterically and jump out of the car and tell her I am *fine*, that we were playing, and He was tickling me, the Brute. And then I go to Him and hug Him and kiss Him soundly.

“Oh god! I was soooo scared. I almost called the police. I…I’m shaking,” she admitted, still kind of nervous. Master handles things with aplomb, and soon she is on her way again, relieved that these two old farts were actually not involved in a domestic event.

And yanno? It was funny…and also a warning. Be careful what is happening around you. She could have decided to not ask. If I hadn’t looked up just then, pretending to swipe at Him, if she hadn’t seen my face, laughing, she might just have called the cops on us.

That would have been sticky, eh?

We met again this past Sunday evening, both of our schedules clearing to allow us a small window of time to be with one another, having tea and sharing some cheesecake. I’ve been ordered to write a blogpost about my “despicable behavior while out in public with Master” (this is tongue in cheek!) so I won’t go into much detail. But I will say that we were a bit more circumspect while in the funky little coffee spot we’re meeting at now.

Or at least…I tried.

More on that part of the tale, later!


Pay for That Kiss

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

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


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

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

oh, I hear you guys, giggling.

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

Ha yourself!!

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

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

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


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

I remember the ones on my belly happening.

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

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

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

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

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

“Pay for that kiss.”

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


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

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

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


i’m sorry…

yeah. i miscalculated my days, and thought i had enough material written in advance. Monday was a holiday here in Mass (and in Maine)…Patriots Day…you know:

“Twas the 18th of April, in ’75 and hardly a man is still alive that remembers that famous day and year…”

Or how about “by the rude bridge that arched the flood, her flag to April’s breeze unfurled, here once the embattled farmers stood, and fired the shot heard ’round the world….”

i didn’t actually go to Lexington green or Concord town this year (battle reenactments are so stirring…sorry my Brit friends, this is a grand memory for us New England patriots….).

Since it was a holiday, the wife was home and i had no opportunity to write…but the real truth is that…i thought i had something all set to post, namely the next chapter in Fae.

And i just went. And looked. And guess what….? It’s still in my fingers. Oops. My bad.

So instead i will regale you with tickle woes….Master and i got a little sneak time on Sunday and he attacked my toes with fervor. He loves my feet (very small feet, small toes)…and he loves torturing them even more.

Almost as much as he loves fucking with my head about it.

Tonight, during our nightly phone call, he fell to musing about feathers. Describing how he could pull them between my toes. And would i think that was ticklish enough?


So. May 1? Pray for my poor toes! As to my missing story? I promise to devote time today to writing like a fiend and finishing this story. And several others. i actually have pent=up writing need now, not having written in several days…and it’s making me crazy to get it down on virtual paper.

And yes, i could be writing now…except…i’m tired, and wouldn’t have time for good proofing …and i want you to get my very best…so i won’t short change you on something that just flies out of me …other than my normal nilla-babble, that is!!

When you come back to me tomorrow(is that a country=western song?) i promise that the next installment of Fae will be here, instead of ..yanno…me.

Course…it could have been worse…you could have arrived here and been greeted with something like this:


but then again…i’m not that much of a horses ass to do that to y’all.