She settled into the little yellow house easily. Her favorite things had been placed with care, turning the house into a home.  Nooks and shelves held treasured items, a ceramic butterfly, a cobalt vase, a bronze unicorn. Each day she woke up, knowing that she’d made the right choice to come here, that this place felt like home to her. Other than a few distant cousins, there was no one on the East coast for her to miss, or miss her.

She walked into town every few days, and explored. There was a great antique shop, a bit too rich for her blood, and a nice “reclaimed” shop on the other side. Ronnie and Pete, brothers, shared the space, often taunting each other over their selections. Although she couldn’t afford most of the treasures on Pete’s side, Ronnie’s “Flea Market” as his brother disparaged it, was a wonderful source of inexpensive treasures. There she’d found several nice pieces for her home, things that she could freshen up with a coat of paint, or leave “as is” and enjoy the feeling of history that came with it.  One or the other would load her find into their battered pick up truck, and drive it, and her, back to her house, and wrestle the piece into her house for her.

She became familiar with the ins and outs of the small town. Bert at the grocery store who could talk the ears off a brass monkey. Arnie who pumped gas and had a soft spot for older corvettes which he lovingly restored in his garage on weekends. Annalise, the hairdresser who seemed to know the intimate goings on of all the residents of  Port Harbour, Oregon.  She had a nodding acquaintance with just about all of her neighbors, and wasn’t it nice to feel a part of the community? Boston was a great city, but everyone had been isolated, living in their own bubbles. She had often wondered at the feeling of loneliness she carried with her, surrounded by so many people. But here? Here everyone wanted to know you. Ironic that she found that here on the West Coast, rather than at that bar in Boston where “everyone knows your name”!

After a few months, she began to get a feel for the ebb and flow here, and felt a bit less like a total outsider. People returned her shy greetings, and waved to her when she walked into town. For the first time, ever, she felt like she was “home”.

Her favorite by far was Miss Susan, who lived next door. Against the picket fence that separated their two properties was the most incredible country garden. Echinacea,  Brown-eyed Susan’s, Coreiopsis, and Daisies bloomed in profusion. Roses framed the southern end of the fence, while the largest blueberry bush she had ever seen took over the northern end. Stems and flowers poked through the fence,  overspilling their confines, and adding a bit of life to her yard. It was obvious that Miss Susan had spent many years working in her gardens, and Chloe considered herself lucky to be neighbors with her.  She was definitely a dabbler in the dirt, and hoped Miss Susan would guide her as she began planting her roots deep into the land of her new home.

Noting that the inside of her little house was in order, working on her side of the fence was becoming a priority.  She had time to putter now that the fast-paced insanity of packing up her household on the east coast was over.  She’d moved all the way across the country, sight-unseen, into the little yellow house that she’d found online, and fallen in love with.

The settlement from Uncle Richard’s estate had been extremely generous. His one admonishment had been to “go, live your dream, and write.” She missed his gruff love, and no-nonsense way of looking at life.  And he accepted her, fully and completely. He’d been uncle, father, and mother to her after losing her parents at a young age. He’d listened to her, guided her, and didn’t blink twice when she’d called him from a dungeon after her Dom boyfriend had driven off and left her there.  He’d come, taken her home, held her as she’d cried. He’d given her the advice to follow her heart, but don’t shut off your brain, girl. She’d never managed to shock him, even the time she had to have him cut off the handcuffs she’d locked herself into. She smiled at the memory. His eyebrow had raised, and had admonished her to make sure he had a key to any further devices. She’d always wondered if he… she shook her head. Not going down that road. She missed him, fiercely.

She had perused the online offerings for BDSM in her new home, but as yet hadn’t dabbled in the community here. Innately shy, it was really hard being the new fish in the pond. There was no Master left behind, never having found the “one” that she’d been willing to serve forever. She played, usually, on the edges of the BDSM scene.

She fell into a routine, of sorts. Up early in the morning, as soft breezes moved through her house, the scents from the garden stirring her to wakefulness. A 30 minute yoga stretch, then tea and some sort of muffin to begin her day.

She sat on her deck, finishing her first cuppa. Today was a gorgeous morning, blue skies, soft midsummer breeze teasing her hair, and the scent of flowers a sweet lure. While she very much wanted to dig in the dirt, she needed the discipline of sitting at her computer and writing, first. Carrying her mug and plate in from the deck, she moved into the den, and tapping her computer awake, began typing.

At His look, she slid to her knees, lifting her breasts as He had taught her He liked.

That didn’t quite carry the force her Dominant would portray. She crossed out, and began typing again.

…..liked demanded she offer herself to him. Her heart beat thickly in her chest

Thickly? Who’s heart beat thickly? She sighed, back spacing to correct that, and became aware of the oddest noise. She’d been in many a dungeon in her sexpliots back east, and the sound of some sort of implement striking flesh was unmistakable.  The moans were soft, and sounded far away, but they weren’t all that far away.

Curiosity burned. Was someone into kinky sex in her neighborhood, or was someone close by being victimized? So many of those crime novels were centered here in the northwest, likely for good reason. She went out to her deck. The sounds were coming from Miss Susan’s house!

She was alarmed, and dashed around the fence to the gate that separated their backyards. Through the gate, across the yard and up the back porch to Miss Susan’s door. Her hand on the knob, she froze for a moment at the next yelp. She turned it softly, then stepped in.

As in her house, the cellar entry was in the kitchen. The sounds weren’t coming from the basement, however. She moved through the kitchen and into the hallway. From above, she heard a muffled thump. Heart pounding, she bolted up the stairs, swinging around the newel post and heading for the one closed door. Flinging it open, she froze.

Miss Susan, dressed in a leather corset and thigh-high boots turned, scowling. Tucked under her arm was a short leather crop, as she  lifted a heavy leather bag up onto the bed. At the top of the bag she could see a thick coil, which she knew was a whip. And on the cross in the corner of the room was Mr. Caruthers, the manager of  Union Bank, Port Harbour branch. His shock of snow-white hair was unmistakable  despite his current, naked, state.  His body was covered in red welts, from his calves to his wrists.

She blinked, shocked to her core.

Miss Susan strode up to her, eyes narrowed.

“What the fuck are you doing in my house?”

Chloe leaned back, away from the force emanating from the woman.  And stuttered out her explanation. While she wanted to look more at Mr. Caruthers, her gaze remained locked on the Domme in front of her.

“And you just barged in here to “rescue” me?” Her tone could have shredded paper.

“Well…I…yes, yes Ma’am. I did.  Don’t…don’t worry. I …I understand what is happening here…I’m a submissive, and …”


The tone brooked no argument. Chloe fell silent immediately. Miss Susan pointed at her feet with the crop. Chloe fell to her knees. The smile on Miss Susan’s face chilled her, more than a bit.

“I’ve always wanted a girl,” she said softly, tapping Chloe’s chin with the end of the crop. “In here I am Suki, but you may call me Ma’am. You are not to speak unless directed, understood?” At Chloe’s bemused nod, she smiled again.

“What is it you do over there all morning, huddled over your computer? Speak.”

Chloe swallowed, hard. “I ….I write erotica, Ma’am.”

“And have you published it?”

“Yes Ma’am. I write a blog, and I’ve had four books published, under the pen name Star Williams.”

“I’ve read some of those!” This came from the blindfolded figure across the room.

Suki crossed the room, and administered  a dozen hard blows across his pale bottom. There was, in that little bit of respite, time for Chloe  to admit that she was feeling nervous. Her white-haired, gardening elf of a neighbor had transformed into a fierce Dominatrix. She struggled with the duality. The woman before her, likely more than twice the large man’s age on the cross, and half his size, was very much in control in this space.

Watching the scene, more than a bit mesmerized, she didn’t feel embarrassed. She didn’t feel out of place. Maybe a bit weirded out by the sudden transformations she was privy to. Then again, she was considered the odd duck in her family. And this sort of thing was…it was like an erotic fairy tale come to life. She felt Mistress’s eyes on her, assessing.

“Tell me, girl.”

Her eyes rose to meet the intense gaze of Suki.

“Are you wet?”

Tears for Master

It was an eventful playtime. And I’m jumping all around on the timeline because…well because things come into my head and I want to explore them here. So think of this as my talking to myself, with you all overhearing me 🙂 !

I spent a lot of time on the Wall this visit. Was pacing around the room feeling nervous. He came into the room, saw me, and put me on the Wall, firmly (head-bang-wall).  A few ass swats. And pinching. And armpit tickling.

In short, torture.

And then He walked into the adjoining room and talked to my Pusy Date, leaving me to stew on the wall. It was neat, to be there on the Wall, just a thing. An object d’art, so to speak. I was deep in subspace when He was gone…it is it’s own form of containment, although I am not secured in any way. I’m allowed to lift my feet to ease my aching toes in the 6″ heels. I can bring my hands down for brief periods to relieve my shoulders, but mostly, forehead on the Wall, hands just about headheight, palms on the Wall.

I made the mistake of thinking He’d left once, and brought my hands down, and rubbed the sore spot on my ass.


The solid whack on my ass startled the fuck outta me! He was still in the room! Fake-out!

Then He is right behind me, pushing against me, pushing me into the wall. Grabbing my wrists, one in each hand, He slaps them up onto the wall over my head.

“You fucking keep those hands up on the wall, capiche?”

I don’t know if I said “Yes Sir,” or if I nodded, or what, because my heart was racing from the firm tone. He is never mad at me, but He watches me way more than I ever give Him credit for. And I love it. Love every fucking minute of it.

And eventually He does go to see PD. And I don’t move, except for the occasional shuffling of my feet.

Time shifts in my head, tho I swear, I promise myself that I won’t forget, that I’m in the moment and aware…but I can’t tell you now, whether it was during that, or before that, or later, after Sir P has gone, that I’m on the Wall, and He decides to try out Wolf and wordwitches “gift” to Him.

Wolf? I fucking hate you.

Just, yanno, in the true spirit of things.

You’re devious and mean and make the most awful toys.

That thin whippy thing with the “spaghetti noodle” falls? Holy fuckity fuck!!

Fuckity FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!

That bastard wrapped around my body and “kissed” my wrist. It’s twin did the same up over my shoulder. I have long thin bruises all over my back and wrist and shoulder. I fucking hated that one.

You know Master beats me hard. I like it that way. But this time? It was brutal. I so very much needed it. The days leading up to this meet were wicked and intense and stressful in my vanilla life…and now I am…


Calm in mind and body.

At peace.

It’s a breath of fresh air, even as my body creaks through all the aches and pains. Every movement hurts, and reminds me of what He did to cause it. It connects us, the pain Giver, and the pain receiver. And even now I grow wet as I move and feel the ache in my muscles, my skin.

He took out the flail with the wicked “S” curves cut into the heavy rubber falls. That thing? Wicked. Wicked. Evil. Painful. It’s mate has straight falls, but it makes no matter. They carry an intense heavy blow that leaves a deep and violent sting. I felt like I was being flayed alive.

O wait. I was being flayed. 🙂

And it hurt so intensely. And my wrists were cuffed to my thighs, all I could do at this point was take it.

And cry.

It’s rare for Him to drive me through pain and into tears. I was sobbing quietly against the wall, the pain just so intense. He stopped, after a bit. Came to my side, and wiped the tear that was dangling from the tip of my nose, but didn’t touch me other than that.

It was ….I don’t think I can put words on the emotions swirling in that memory. Gratitude that He was beating me so hard. Grateful for the tears. (He’d told me He could bring me to tears quite easily, a long while ago, but that I needed to grow before He’d ever do it.) Grateful for a Dom that knows me well enough to push me through this, and was caring enough to take the tear, without saying anything about it.

And as odd as it sounds? It is one of my strongest memories thus far, one of pain and tenderness.



“Fucking asshole bastard!”

Her head was yanked back by her ponytail.

“Were you talking to me, slut?” His voice was soft, dangerously soft, and amused. He was always most scary to her then. When he was in full control. When she wasn’t. Her heart raced, her breath caught in her throat as her eyes stared into his, as his eyebrow quirked up a notch at her hesitation.

“So, I’m an asshole bastard now, am I?”  There was a pause, and she distinctly felt the soft heat of pussy juice trickle down the inside of her thigh. The heat of his breath against her cheek, the weight of his hand at her throat. Her wrists throbbed, wrapped tightly in the leather ties, but she didn’t dare to move. Her heart skipped a beat as his other hand pinched her nipple. He did it slowly, crushing the tiny bud between his fingers as if it were an insect. Her eyes closed as she moaned.

“Am I?” he asked again, a hint of impatience in his voice.

“Yes,” she whispered, “you are.”

“Good girl.” He stepped out of her viewpoint, but she heard the snap of  his whip as he chuckled.

“Fucking asshole bastard. Has a nice ring to it, actually, slut.”

She didn’t, couldn’t reply. The stinging blow on her ass stole her breath, and though her mouth opened and closed,  nothing came out but a puff of breath.

story writing has taken a backseat to real life lately. I have a bunch of things in my head, and Master’s tale to write (He wants it done well, not raced through to get it done, and has given me another extension…but not for too long), and some old things to finish up…and there just hasn’t been a moment to do anything. This little vignette was born from something aisha wrote about on Monday, about the physical manifestations of arousal when we’re faced with our Top. It’s not too long, and we don’t know much of their story, but I wanted to capture the images before they slipped into the ether. 


as a little aside, this marks my 1,111th post…for whatever reason, that just charms me! And I’m about 550 or so hits away from 300,000…how exciting! By Monday I’ll be up and over that edge.  Thank you, pervie friends, for pushing me up and over that goalpost! ~n~

“There you go.”

She groaned as he fastened the next clothes pin to her side. Her arms were getting tired, tied as they were to the upper part of the Cross.  She felt the hot, slick ooze on her left thigh as the pain continued to jolt her cunt to awareness.

So fucking turned on.

So fucking hurting.

“ung..! OH!” She yelped, writhed a bit in her bondage as he pinched another bit of her tender skin.  She looked like a fucking porcupine! Her belly was covered in the pinching nasties. Her tits were throbbing. Her nipples ached.

He was currently absorbed in applying the next peg to the top of her pussy, just before the start of her pussy lips. Her skin was drawn taut, every sag now gathered up in the unforgiving pins.

“Stop complaining, slut,” he admonished, looking up. He rolled his eyes at her. “This is hard work, you know. Gods, I must have squeezed 150 of these suckers. I’m getting a hand cramp here. Silly slut.”

She whimpered. He was so fucking mean!

It seemed like hours later that he stepped away.

Pins ran up and down her front. He’d stuck one on her bottom lip, and the bridge of her nose. The ran down her legs, and up her pussy.

He picked up his phone and snapped a few pictures.

“Well, you do look lovely. A bit peggy, but lovely.”

She moaned. The pincers were really starting to ache. She supposed this was when the fullness of her submission was supposed to kick in. When it wasn’t quite as comfortable.  She was one throbby mass of hurt.  She didn’t feel fucking submissive. She wanted to rip her hand free and pull off these fucking pegs, and peg them at HIM!

And he just stood there, drinking it in.

“Hurts, does it?”

She nodded, tears leaking from her. She could no more stop those, than the steady river flowing from her pussy.

“Really, really hurts?”

“yes, Master. It really fucking really hurts!” Her voice was a husky whisper.

A smile dashed across his face, a little boy with his new toy. Reaching out, he flicked a few of the pins. Her nipple was not amused; she gasped at the sharp stab of sensation. Stepping up to her, pressing up against the bristly protrusions, He took her face and kissed her. She moaned into his mouth as he pressed and moved the clothespins as he leaned into her.

“So fucking mean” she gasped into his mouth. He laughed against her lip, knocking the peg there up and down.

“Oh, are we complaining?”

She nodded.

“Very well then, slut. I guess I’ll have to take them off.” He turned away to the table, taking a sip of his ice tea.

The relief in her voice was palpable. “Thank you Sir, Thank YOU!”

Her relief was short-lived as he turned back to her,  brandishing his favorite crop.  With a snap, the first peg came flying off. She cried out; the crop stung, the release of the peg hurt!

“You think you have problems slut? My arm is getting sore here!”

He threw back his head and laughed.


inspired by sins blog….finding my submission…go read it…it’s good. (link is in my links to the right. You KNOW i don’t do well with this computer stuff, right??)

It  hurt.

Waves of pain swirled around her, a whirlpool of heat, centering on her tormented tits. A firm bite from the clamps on her nipples insured that every movement renewed the pain waves. From the shallowest breath, to the swats He administered with the thin crop, everything centered just there, on the erect nubbins at the end of her full breasts.

Each time she was certain He was done, as she stood, panting in the heat of the inferno of her tits, she’d hear the faint swish of the thin leather a hearbeat before the slice of pain registered.

She whimpered. Tears fell freely, drenching the blindfold. Eventually they began leaking from underneath, long smudges of mascara’d saline, etching the pain strokes upon her cheeks.

A long pause. His thumb against her cheek, smudging the trailing ravages of her slut make up. His fist grabbing at her chin, pulling it up, and assaulting her lips with His ravaging mouth. Teeth and tongue took her to the brink, stealing her breath, fucking her mouth with savagery. Her moans were swallowed into Him. His hand plucked at the chain that decorated her chest. Pulled up. Up. Up. She rose to her toes, His mouth still latched firmly against hers, as He ate her scream of pain.

The release of pain was almost as painful to her.

Alone, clamps gone, flesh gently throbbing, she rubbed her swollen lips with a finger.

Wondered when He’d return.

Camp Nekking ch.21

Cori was tired, but exhilarated at the same time. She had done well with the  two challenges at Slave Games, coming in first at Cunt Rope Walking, and second at Oral Fixation. Who knew what devious challenge Master had signed her up for next. She was resting, a can of soda in her hand, half gone. Deep throat work was thirsty work!  She watched Master make his way across the room towards her, his impish grin clear warning that something wicked was coming her way!

He stopped a few feet away, holding out his hand, silently ordering her to come to him. Rising slowly, she grimaced when he pulled her firmly into him, mashing her sore bits and pieces purposely. She moaned when his fingers probed the deep purple bruise on her ass cheek, and she caught his grin.

“Beast,” she whispered, reaching up and tweaking his nipple.

“Feeling brave, cunt?” he asked, dangerously lazy. The gleam in his eye should have warned her, but too late. He grabbed her by the back of her hair, and rather than kissing her more than willing mouth, he bit her lower lip, hitting the exact spot he’d bitten earlier. She moaned, but he would not release the captured bit of flesh. She felt his tongue lap across it, then the sucking pull as he closed his lips around it. She moaned again, but there was heat mixed in with the hurt. Her hips pushed against his, wanting him. She felt his lips curl into a smile. He released her lip, puffy and darkening from his bruising bite. He rubbed his face against her soft cheek, nuzzling that sensitive spot just under her earlobe, and her hum vibrated against him as his lips softly cruised along her jaw and back up to her ear. He did love how she responded to all he gave to her, the pain and the pleasure. She was learning to love both, to accept his needs as her wants.

He led her across the room. All along the far wall was a series of rings. At various points, other slaves had been tied or cuffed securely. A long horizon of asscheeks, all sizes, all colors, and both sexes met her gaze as she turned to look while Master secured her likewise. Even old and young asses, she mused, knowing wryly that she was in the first category. She watched as Masters and Mistresses alike ran their hands down backs, pinched the backs of thighs, probed assholes or cunts, fondled caged cocks, tortured balls. The floor began to clear, and her Master moved away as the mic screeed on, and onlookers winced from the feedback.

“Whip contest begins in 5 minutes!” 

Cori started. Whips?! O.My.Fucking.Gawd. She didn’t sign up for that? Did she? She tried to meet her Masters’ gaze, but he was ignoring her, as the leather-clad Mistresses from yesterday and today passed down the line, attaching balloons to the slaves pinned to the wall. Cori wondered if an entomologist’s room would look like this, insects pinned helplessly to the wall. 

She watched as the Mistresses taped red balloons onto the backs, upper arms, asscheeks, thighs, and between the legs of each bound slave.  Ten balloons, affixed tightly to bound flesh.  She quivered involuntarily as the Mistress preparing her scraped a line down her back with one long fingernail.

“Remember me, sweet pet? You have one of the best mouths I’ve ever seen. I would love to have that mouth of yours working on my cunt. Perhaps your Master and I can come to some…” she paused, then her purring voice continued….”…some mutual agreement for our mutual satisfaction.”

Cori could only visualize the woman, for her head was bound facing the wall, but she remembered the beauty of the Mistress from earlier.  She could easily picture her lovely tits perched so high above the tight black corset, the swell of her ass, the scent of her cunt as she had forced a large dildo into Cori’s mouth. 

Was it only this morning that she had had her first woman to woman sexual experience?  She knew the woman before her would demand much, much more from her than Master Chris’s slave had, and the thought of it caused her own cunt to pulse with desire. A shiver ran down her spine as the Mistress smoothed the balloon on her lower back, then caressed Cori’s smooth round ass.She felt the brush of a breast against her side, as yet another balloon was attached to her.  The Mistress’ lethal fingernails gave Cori’s ass a firm pinch, making her jump, and her throaty laugh sounded wonderfully enticing.

“mmmmm, later, little one, I think I will be certain to speak to Master Dave about you when you are done here.” The Mistress finished applying the balloons over Cori’s backside, between her spread legs, and at the top of her thighs. Her hand snaked up and cupped Cori’s large breast, teasing the nipple to sudden hardness, pulling  and squeezing the nub firmly. Cori felt lips on her shoulder, and a fingernail scraped through her slit, across  her clit. A soft moan escaped her lips, and she turned her head as much as she was able, to make eye contact. Smiled shyly. The Mistress looked at her, unsmiling, but Cori saw the smoldering heat in her gaze. Then, the glorious, powerful woman  moved away, after giving Cori a  gentle pat on her ass. Cori saw her pass the balloon-securing task to another, and watched the beautiful Domme’s ass swing and sway as she made her way over to talk to Master. The two heads drew together, and Cori admitted, she was getting very wet, knowing what Mistress was proposing to Master, and wondering if he would allow the Mistress to have her. She watched as they smiled at each other, the Mistress’s hand sliding down from Master’s shoulder, to pat him on his ass. There was a lot of ass patting going on here! Oh. My!  Excitement shivered through her.

Her excitement dimmed a bit as she watched Master pick up a long, fierce-looking whip from those offered by a staffer. He flexed the whip a bit, looking directly at her for the first time since leaving her tied to the rough pine boards of the Lodge. 

The mic screeed and hissed, then came the announcement that Cori dreaded.

“Places, everyone, spectators, please clear the area or you may be an unintentional ” a pause, a light smattering of laughter…”playpartner.”

“The Rules are as follows. Break all the balloons first and your team wins! Easy, Peasy!”

“Yeah, right,” thought Cori, eyes screwed tightly shut, “easy for you to say, you damned idjiot!”

“Ready, Steady…”

“Oh holy shit!!!!” Cori felt her entire body drawing up, tensing….


The sound of the first whip blow was loud, and  nearly simultaneous, as arms flashed downward heading for the red balloons. Groans, gasps, two screams erupted as whips met flesh, but Cori just grunted, accepting the blow.

Her master smiled  with pride. His second stroke caught the right distance, force and speed, and there was a loud “POP” when his blow broke the first balloon in the line of tethered slaves.

Wagers were being placed, the raucous sound of laughter, and in a brief moment of silence the splatter of some liquid, piss or cum, Cori didn’t know, but the sound was overloud. Seven of her balloons were gone, her flesh was welted and she swore her body had been lit with a blowtorch. She hunkered down her shoulders at the warning whistle of the whip, but since she didn’t know where he was aiming, and she couldn’t really brace for the blow. She moaned as the fierce lash sliced across her tortured ass, moaned again as the balloon broke with a snap.

“Eight down, two to go,”  she thought through gritted teeth.  As incredible as it seemed, she could feel wetness on the balloon between her thighs. It was wet from her juices. She was one sick cunt, that was for certain. She hated this. She loved this. His dominance over her body, her mind was nearly overwhelming, and she was coming to crave more, and still more from him. Again the whistle of the lashing whip, again the pop and snap of latex.  She knew where that last whip lash was heading. She couldn’t take it. She couldn’t, wouldn’t bear it…

..and before she could open her mouth to beg him to stop, it was done! With a sizzle and pop, the balloon snapped onto her cunt, eliciting her first and only scream. She jumped as much as she was able, throwing herself against the rough planked walls, and cried.

The mic screamed to life.

“Ladies and Sirs, we have a winner. For the third year in a row, Master Dave has taken the Whipping  Prize…or rather, his slave has! ” Laughter erupted, but Cori was nearly deaf to the noise. She felt a probing at her ass, and moaned, deep and low. A cold sensation gliding across the wetness then slipping back to her anus, pushing.

“First prize,” he whispered in her ear, “a stainless steel butt plug, size medium!” and he pushed it home.