Off My Game

Dateline: Tuesday afternoon

I am feeling unwell…not *bad*, mind you, but just a bit off. My tummy isn’t quite right, though I can eat. My head is muzzy and I’m sneezy and –I’m just “off”.

Yeah. I know.

I’m often “off”…


not that kind, you goof!

One of the stupid side effects of not being on par is a muzzy head. I can’t think my way through a story line. And I’m all atwitter (not the tweeting kind, the nervous excited energy kind) about the impending big snow tonight (Tuesday) and tomorrow (Wednesday).

I love snow.



I do, yes. The smell of it…it’s almost indescribable. Cold, to be sure, but sweetly crisp? The sound of it…every other noise is muffled. The few cars moving down the road. The birds are quieter than normal. People aren’t out much but the snowfall tamps down the sound if they speak. The light of it…even in the deepest, darkest, part of the night, the world has a glow to it, with snow on the ground, or falling from the sky.

And the miracle of it. Oh, I know. If you’re from Florida or Georgia or the Carolina’s you’re cringing at that. But up here where we’re ready and prepared? Each flake a miracle of formation, just from a scientific perspective. A flake has a hard time forming, the conditions have to be perfect. There is bouncing around in the cloud, taking on shape and form and substance, before it ever makes its way down from the cloud to the land below.

Okay, I’m waxing poetic about a snowflake. *shrugs*

Did I mention how much I like snow,  a dozen times or more over these last 4 plus years? 🙂

And guess what?


I’ll sit here with my tea and wait for you.

Sunday is my birthday.

AND there could be an even bigger storm then which is terribly, wonderfully thrilling…three storms in a row, each better than the last? Kewl beans, my pervie friends, kewl beans.

I might yet get snowshoeing this winter!!  (Last time we had a lot of snow, we got into the polar vortex and i’m not that much in shape that I could go outside and tackle that!)

All that said, we might all be housebound here on Wednesday (which is today as you read this, but yesterday as I wrote it!)…and no ability to write. I’ll be sewing and knitting and doing all the good housewifey stuff, and not doing anything slutty or naughty or writerly.

I know you all understand.

*smiles at you all for understanding*

So rather than giving you chapters of some of those stories I’ve got in my head,  I’ll give you a wee bit of my last weekend instead…when i *finally* got to see the Man. We had a nice time together, sharing company as we drank our tea. Talking, laughing, a bit of kiss and pinches.  We expect to spend some time together this upcoming Saturday evening. I might help Him purchase curtains for His house, and we might eat together. A nice time, weather permitting.

Have I mentioned His beardy face?

He has facial hair, yes,  which I LOVE. I love the feel of His raspy whiskers on my cheek and lips as we kiss. The somewhat soft feel of them as I caress and cup His face (for the 3 seconds He allows it). And the way it burns when He rubs them on my naked skin during playtime…mmmmm!

So we kissed. Briefly. He grabbed a teeny little bit of skin just at my armpit and pinched the fuck out of it, with the tiniest of pinches. I gasped, holding my breath and sitting at attention. It’s the first time in a month that we’ve had even the tiniest of play time…public play, but was lovely to have His hands on me, feeding me baby bites of pain and attention.

We had a brief conversation last night via text regarding want vs need. I feel I need pain as part of my life, I thrive on it to some extent. He says that needs are biological. Food, sleep, water. All else is merely desire.

Anyone else see the disparity there between us? 🙂

(I am forever drawn to those who are the polar opposite of me!)

Yet we make it work, and He recognizes how important “needs” are to others. (Recognizes…and uses, I’d say.) So I got my dose of face time with the Man, who is *so* fucking good at throwing these little sexy-naughty-Domly things into an ordinary vanilla conversation. Catches me up short every time.

I pause, considering. Replaying His words in my head.

Did He just say…?

I look at Him, and His eyes glitter. He watches for my reaction, drinks them in with His sips of tea.

I blush. I stutter. I blink in confusion.

He smiles, sits back, pleased.

He’s gotten me, again.

(You’re so gullible, slut)

How could I have gotten through the last 4 weeks without this, i wonder?


In other news, He is allowing me to get a colored streak in my hair…a purple one. *giggling with delight*. He is not upset with the cutting of hair into layers, and the color is good too. Phew. But the purple streak? That’s new. Exciting. Tweeny, I know.  Juvenile. Well…so?

Yeah, you all know that I’m never going to grow up!


I guess that’s all the words I have the ability to put together, pervie peeps. I know this isn’t all that sexy, exciting stuff, but it is the fullness of who I am, so I know you get it. Life, even D/s life, isn’t all tie-ups, beatings, and fucking, (mores the pity, right?!)…there’s also this side, the not-quite-well, the tired, the (dare I say it?) vanilla stuff that is part of the equation for all of us.

I guess as long as you can accept that, that there will be vanilla amongst the bruises, that there will be bill-paying along with play-date planning–then you really “get” it…this is life, D/s or vanilla…and finding your peace with ALL sides of it is what we all need to get to. Doms will be too tired to spank, subs will be too exhausted to give a fuck, time will be short, play will be supplanted by unexpected company–and it’s all the real stuff of life–all else is fantasy. And while you know that *I* of all peeps get the need for the fantasy, know too that I accept that the vanilla parts really are as important as the kink.

I know.

I wish it weren’t so.

I wish I could push away property taxes, and schoolwork, and laundry, and poop-scooping the backyard and make everything kinky…but that’s not real, is it? I’ve made my peace with what I am (a horny, needy, greedy slut)…and that what I get from Master (pain, kink, sex, tasks)  is what I need. Together, over these last 4 years, we’ve crafted something special, something that is flexible, malleable.  It’s what works for us. Despite not having every moment of the day being kinky,  the time we DO get to play is all the more special for the waiting. Sometimes all the more intense for the waiting, too. Kind of like when He delays my orgasms for a few days…and when I do finally get one, its a whoppah. 🙂

I wish that for you, pervie peeps. Balance, and bliss.

I’m off to bed. Must sleep. Master says…bedtime is sleeping time, not sending long lists of queries about the nature of submission, or the role of the Dominant. 🙂

(yeah, I do that.)





So ya’ll likely read most of the same blogs i do, right? i mean, my blogroll is right over there to the right …

You’ll remember the flap that anon caused over at sins a few days ago, about people over 40 and sex, and about dominance and abuse and submission and wimpy women/men…blah blah blah. i’m not gonna rehash it all here, it’s been said by all the commentors there and at a similar ‘attack’ if you will, over at Mick’s blog.

It’s pretty obvious that anon is young. She is contentious and rude and snarky, which is upsetting enough…but her ongoing sentiment that sex is only for the young?

First it stuck in my craw, pissed me off. And then i got the humor of it. Oh, my gawd, if only she knew…and if she lives long enough, someday she might. I’m putting it out there now:

I am 52. Fifty-two.

And i’m having more sex (and better, more satisfying sex) now than at any other period in my life. Ever.


That includes, btw, the thrill of masturbating to orgasm, when Master allows me the privilege. Something which i never did when i was young coz i was a “good” girl…and it was “bad” to touch yourself.

I hope today’s generation begins to love their bodies, and understand that we are inherently sexual beings. Our purpose as higher mammals isn’t only to procreate…but to recreate! We are one of the few mammals that play games. Create them, play them.  Recreational sex falls into that category, for me anyway. It’s good. It’s fun! It’s enjoyable…and i believe we’re hardwired for it.

So the title of this post is “graphic”.  Because all of this beginning stuff right here? It is …the prequel, i guess,  to what, by some accounts, might be oversharing. OH, i’ve given you glimpses. Tastes and tidbits,  a bit here a bit there. But today i want to go deeper, try to show you, anon, since i know you read here, too, that sex between consenting adults over 50  is hot. Steaming, smoking, writhing with heat. Just so you don’t think life should end at 29 (btw…have you ever seen Logan’s Run? just a thought…)


He takes me from the bathroom, where i have dressed sexy for His pleasure and mine. I strut across the room in the 6 inch red heels, the skirt of my black lace outfit flirting with my ass, under His watchful gaze. I reach the far wall, and turn, then cross back at His silent gesture.

He hands me the velcro cuffs…the pair that slide up my legs, tighten at my thigh, and the matching pair for my wrists. He clips each wrist to each thigh. He slips the blindfold over my eyes. Here is where the trust enters fully. Trust, as well as  love, are always present when we are together, but… Blindfold marks the start of our “scene time.” I trust that He will hurt me…i want that, after all, as does He. But i also trust that He will not harm me, my body or my spirit.

When we are together, He is always the Dom, and i am always the sub. But during  blindfold time, there is a different…tenor to my submission. Less playful girlfriendy…more fully submissive. He takes me by my hair and wrist, and pulls me across the room, and bends me over his lap.

The spanking happens here, and the pinching. And the assessing. He feels how wet i am. He tells me that i have wet his pantleg with my juices. My ass is burning, the crack ouchy with bruises from his pinching, and i’m upsided downed on his lap…smiling. I feel the throbbing between my thighs, and know how badly i need.

I want.

I want desperately  to be fucked. To cum. To explode for Him. He pulls me up by my hair, and i feel my juices run down my thighs. Hair pulling, this level of control and dominance turns me on so much.

I want.

Already the endorphins have made me high, and i’m disoriented from being ass-end up for so long. He snaps the heavy metal clamps on my nipples, the chain cold against my belly as it sways. He’s moving me across the room, placing me precisely.  He shoves me down, hand firmly between my shoulder blades. Face down on the bed, one leg straddling each corner, knees just above the floor. My pussy is pressed into the corner point of the mattress, my hands uselessly strapped to my splayed legs. My clamped nipples are pressed hard into the mattress and i feel the shivery connection between them and my aching, needy cunt. I am bound now to His desire, His wants.

I have no fucking idea what is coming next. He is silent, yet i feel Him, the heat of Him between my legs. His hand is between my cheeks, spreading me.

And i know.

I know what is happening.

There is no preamble. OH, He uses lube…for His pleasure, ease of entry…i feel the cold drizzle of it as it trails between my buttmoons. So cold i shiver…or is it the nervous anticipation of what is coming?  There is no prep. No butt plug to slowly loosen my asshole. The head of His cock slicks through the lube trail. And presses. Steadily. Without undue roughness, but considerable intent.

His way.

His cock presses inside and a gasp slips from me…a gasp, and a moan. Pain, yes, but i’ve been so turned on for so long, and no fingerfucking, no vibe, no relief since the blindfold went on.

I crave Him. Even this. As He slides up inside my bowels, i am moaning with the burning pain of it…that never ends, really, and then as always when i’m being butt-fucked…the first orgasm SLAMS into me.

There is no warning.

There is no slow and steady build up, that trembling tumble over the edge. No twinkling of my clit, of my inner muscles to warn me. Just abrupt, intense convulsions of my cunt around the nothing there.

He feels it, buried in my ass. Moans, and grunts happily.

Tells me i’m such a dirty slut, cumming with his cock stuffed up my buttpipe. And it happens again. I cum. I …more than cum. I explode. I’m squirting all over the bed, feeling the covers soaking underneath me.

There is no memory i have of “how many” orgasms i had then. He says he fucked my ass for the better part of an hour. I remember little after the fourth or fifth orgasm. It’s a blur of pain, of pleasure, of wants met. The remembered Heat of Him between my legs, His hands pressing down on my back, almost like  backwards cpr,  while he fucked me that way.

Later, long later, He slapped my ass and made me crawl up to the middle of the bed. I thought He was done..  His erection spent, played out in the cavern of my ass.

Silly slut.

 He had a new toy. One i didn’t see  for hours…but i felt it.

A dual insertion vibrator.

Over and over again, He continued fucking into my sore and tired asshole. . . and my needy pussy. The hummmmm of the vibe is a low counterpoint to my mewling crying. No sotto voiced slut, my voice rose and fell all over the vocal register as i came.

And came again.

For hours He played His games with my body. Finally i was near unconscious, so far out in subspace that only the sweet beloved timbre of His voice pulled me back.

Over the course of nine hours, i had more orgasms than you could imagine, anon. When it was time to go, i was sore, throbbing, sated, relaxed, tired, and gawd. . .

So fucking happy.

I wish that for you, anon, that kind of intense, fulfilling happiness. If you’ve got it already, good on you.

But so do i.

So do lots of us.

So lets share the happy. Its fine that you find your bliss in your vanilla bed. But it’s equally fine that i find mine, graphically, in a darker place.

D/s Play

I talk to Sir on a daily basis. And texting, mustn’t forget the texting! We have another date planned, but it’s far in the future. Sigh. Still, the daily talks and texts help. We’re building trust.

He gives me little assignments to complete. Pushes his control over me so i can feel the weight of his Dom over my very subby head. No “O’ tonight nilla. (nilla pouts. pussy pouts. Sir laughs.)

I have done a few writing assignments, some published, some just for  Him.

Yesterday, as we’re about to wrap up another long phone call,  he says to me, “nilla, I want you to think about one more thing.”

“Yes, Sir?”

“spreader bar”

i wish you could hear the tone of his voice. Steel wrapped in velvet. A dash of humor. I can hear his smile through the phone as i sit in my car, speechless. I know!  nilla, speechless, again. Who wouldathunkit?

That was Saturday. The day i’d published the Thief part whatever…that featured…a spreader bar.

Which i know Sir had not read yet.

Psychic. (nilla nods) The Man is a psychic genius.  nilla loves the idea of a spreader bar. Now, sitting the parking lot of Walmart, nilla is smiling, too.

“really Sir??!!”

“um, hummmm” He says in agreement.

“i’m all wet now, Sir”

“oh, like that’s news, nilla!”

So, much later in the day, i’m standing in the pizza shop waiting for the family order. Looking out the window at traffic chugging by,the setting of the sun, mind aimlessly drifting and what pops into my head?

Yeah. “spreader bar” . It just sort of floats into my head and beams there. So i’m now wet again, smiling to myself (the pizza guy musta thought i was a nutjob…mayhap i am a nutjob.

Later that night, tucked in bed and once more chatting with Sir, he says to me ” so, nilla, do you get dizzy if you’re upside down?”

This is so out of context of what we HAD been talking about i’m nonplussed.

“Um, me? if i’m upside down? do i get dizzy? um, well, yes, i guess  so, why?”

“Just wondering. Spreader bars are wonderful tools. Tell me, nilla, can you stand on your hands?”

Oh. My. Gawd.

Of Stats,Transforming & Strange Searches…

Bloggers thrive on stats.At least this blogger does!  When I started blogging late  in August, 2009, I had 18 views. Now, that was only a day or two, so….. not bad for a newbie. By September, the views had crept over the 800 mark…and since then, this vanilla woman’s blog  is hitting over  4,000 views per month. Wow! Blows da nilla’s mind, this does. My secret sex fantasy blog…

Now, i get nothing from this.


Not True!! I do get something…but it’s intangeable……it’s this vicarious thrill down deep in my spirit, and okay, sometimes in my pussy. You like my stuff. My dirty little vanilla world fantasies.  This blog saved me, I think.  I might have imploded otherwise. My marriage may well end if my wife someday discovers my dirty little secret life, but who’s to say that it wouldn’t have ended because of my despair? I actually contemplated leaving in mid-summer (pre-blog)…i was so unhappy. Now i’m fully out of my cocoon. Pulled by my writing, my readers, and most importantly, my Sir.  He is my coach, the driver of this wonderous ride i’m taking. And, as He’s pointed out to me, i may  have the destination in mind, but it’s His horse and buggy. Isn’t that sweet? And true!

Now I have this hidden world to hang out in. People who don’t see my fantasies as weird…but hawt.  Friends who’s blogs and lives inspire and inform me. And fans. People who can take a look with me, over the edge of “normal” and see into the vastness below. Helloooooooo…. yeah, it’s not dark and gloomy over there…it’s Hawt, and Horny…and dare i say it?…..Wet!

So thanks for coming along on this ride with me, keeping me sane (whatever that is), and playing sexay with me.

And you people with the strange search posts…man, you gotta try harder…'”thin hanging boobs”???  My girls are not so thin, and my story maidens almost always have big old tits, just like their momma! (nilla snorts out a laugh!) How about “tit punishment slapping” (no, here we do that for fun, right?) or “he pierced her cunt because” (because…why? Subbies chant together ..”Because He/She Can!”) or the ever popular “she took his cock” . Huh? Took it where? The laundromat?? nilla giggles…some are weird, but the vast majority just crack me the hell up. I’m that kinda girl.

Happy New Year, to you all, may you be blessed by much that fills you in 2010. I’ma knowin’ da nilla is gonna be filled, too (hee! and HOO RAH! )

y’all come back now, ya hear?

Cookie Madness and “Marthanity”

So I was reading over at kaya’s blog about cookies…she posted a great recipe for gingerbread cookies. Personally, nilla finds gingerbread revolting. Ugh. I made gingersnaps in Jr. High (back in the day when Home Ec was required for all girls, heh) and my family loved them so much, poor nilla had to bake them over and over and over. double ugh. That said, i still will make them for my family, but ONLY during Yule. Still haven’t made them yet, but they’re on my docket.

what nilla did do? made dough. lotsa lotsa dough. Scoop dough into balls and freeze. Chocolate chip. Reverse chocolate chip. And sugar cookies? Rolled, cut into cute Yule shapes, flash frozen. All ready for “Marathon Baking Day” which was Sunday. Dozens and dozens (13.5 just in chip cookies alone) went through my oven. Then the decorating….maybe 12 or 13 dozen mini sugar cookies.

I can’t help it. I was infected by Marthanity. Now, a small aside here. My mom discovered she was terminally ill in December. She died 4 months later. She LOVED Christmas. But her loss really killed my spirit. Too young …in fact, i’m only 7 years younger than she was when she died (gulp). It was impossible for me to be all “merry and bright” for years and years …and then the littles came along and it was necessary to get through it. And by getting through it, you get into it. (is this a D/s analogy? hmmm). Finally this year, nilla is W-AAAAA-Y into it.  And I have the pictures to prove it!

Artfully decorated stars….

snowmen with cheery red scarves, brown buttons and blue eyes,

Can you hear those bells ringin?

mini trees complete with wee ornaments…

9 square feet of cookies on the island and still more to bake…

all the mini sugars done and waiting to be packed into tins for holiday gifting..

See, told you i was “marthanity”…and I still have fudge to make. Still, I love driving around town, dropping cookie tins at the flower shop, the mechanics, the doctors office, the dentist (hoardes them and tries not to share with the hygenist and secretary!), the library ladies…and on it goes.

He’s a So and Sew…

He stood at the head of the check out line. Tapping his toe impatiently, he was the picture of frustration. He pointed at the sales clerk.

“You need to find someone to help with this problem.” It was said firmly, but the girl, young, and more than used to brusque patrons during the holidays, wandered off to find a manager.

The tall man jingled change in his pocket.

“Why do men do that?” asked a soft voice behind him. He was tempted to ignore it, but he needed an outlet. Turning, he raised one eyebrow and stared down at the petite woman behind him. He noticed her flame colored hair immediately. It was long, gently curled, and framed her blue eyes beautifully. She looked up at him with a gentle smile.

“Do what?” he asked in a softer tone.

“Jingle change when you’re feeling impatient!” she replied, laughter in her voice. “You know, they’ll charge you $5 just to repair that button. That’s….criminal!” Her eyes flared for a moment. She shook her head, hair bouncing.

“Likely they’ll charge me $15 and I’ll consider it money well spent to get the hell out of here before I miss my dinner party completely,” he responded, annoyed.

She stared at him, openmouthed. “F-fifteen dollars??!!” She sputtered. “That’s…stupid! Ridiculous! I have a needle and thread in my knitting bag in the car. If you’re brave enough to come out there with me, I’ll have it stitched on in a jiffy.”

He regarded her cooly for a moment. Looked around the store. The girl had vanished. No manager in sight. He looked back at the redhead.

“And how much will it cost me?” he nearly sneered at her.

She glared at him. He felt the heat from those eyes branding him. He straightened a bit more. He felt it. Suddenly and without warning, he knew he wanted this woman. The electric current running between them changed.

She spoke, calmer. “I don’t charge for kindness.” And turning on her heel, she strode away.

For a short woman, she certainly could cover a lot of ground! He caught up with her at the exit, held the door for her. She barely glanced at him. Sounded almost like a sniff of …disdain? He was not used to being dissed! This woman was charming! He all but danced ahead of her. Held out his hand to slow her forward pace. The Patriots would love someone on their front line with this much forward momentum!

“I apologize. I’m …. unused to the kindness of strangers.” He chose his words and tone carefully. She stopped. Glanced up at him.

“Well, I can believe that,” she said, ice still in her voice. He cupped her elbow. She read the intent in his eye a split second before his mouth came to hers. Even as she opened her mouth to protest…surely she was going to protest? they connected. He took immediate advantage of her openness, sliding his skillful tongue into her mouth to taste her. His hand slid from her elbow up to scoop the flaming locks and cup her neck, pulling her into his kiss, locking them in his world. He felt her surrender. Felt her small hand on his chest over his heart. Felt his cock stir.

He’d found her. At last.