The Van

You know you want me. You know you can’t stop thinking about  me. You crave what I have to offer, what I will give to you. Pain, so much pain, the best pain of your life.

This is how almost every email from him starts. He’s been hounding me for so long now, I barely remember the start of it. I’ve been part of that Kinks r Us website for a long time, it’s how I met my Sir, after all. And although I’ve chatted up friends, subsisters and Dom’s there, ….it’s not the focus of my energies. Sir is.

And then he came along. This Dark Lord Pain Master. He came, as others had from time to time, to my profile page, and inquired about my availability. I responded politely that I served another. Yet, he did not back off as other Doms did.

He pursued.

Sir said to ignore him, but it ate away at me, until finally after one provocative message, I exploded. I wrote the most anger-filled, mean, nasty email to him.  I went on and on about him disrespecting me, my Sir, my life. About his continued pushing for something that was out of his reach. About what a fucking stupid idiot he was to keep knocking on a door that was closed to him.

I knew you were thinking about me. Such passion. I know how to channel that. How to make you hurt. You want me. I know you do. You know you do.

I growled, I paced, yet I kept it together and just ignored him.  Still,  he was a constant irritant. And it fretted me. Why me? Why does he keep coming back to me? Surely there are more submissives in the Big City near to him. Why would he keep sending me email?

Sir said it was because I was amusing him, by replying now and again. That he was fishing and I was obliging by taking the bait time and again.

And likely He was right. So I continued to ignore the fool. I no longer mentioned it to Sir when I got an email, just read it,  boiled with righteous indignation, and deleted it.

I know who you are. I know where you are. You are mine. It’s time to admit the truth here.

Yeah. Right. Fucktard. I finally went to the website and got the fucking asshat blocked. No more emails. No more him sitting and jerking off to my profile pics. This huge weight just fell from my shoulders, and life was rosy once more. I didn’t bother Sir with any of the details, He’d told me to handle it, and so I had.


This getting in shape thing is for the fucking birds. And, okay I did procrastinate a bit. Had the dinner dishes to do, and then the dog was curled up on the couch and trying to entice him off there once he’s settled? Impossible.

“Fine,” I grumble, fast-forwarding my ipod to my Walking Music set, as I set off in the gloaming without the damned pooch. I have the music up loud, driving me forward. I start slow, heading up West Street, and up it is. It goes for a long while at a gradual incline, which warms me up and makes me puff a bit. Traffic is getting lighter, which is a blessing. Walking while dragging in deep lungfuls of car exhaust is gross.  I walk to get healthy, not inhale second-hand car exhaust.

A car slows beside me and it’s dusky and I’m jumpy. I’m torn between moving on and ignoring, or taking a look. I can’t help myself, I look. Oh, she’s got to be 80 if she’s a day.  I give her directions to the street she is looking for, and pick up my pace as she slowly peels into traffic. A white van almost, almost takes her out, but stops in time. She does a wide U-turn, making me shake my head.  The van creeps by, as do the three other cars behind it.

I turn down my first cross street, then just a half-block ahead, the second street. This street is so quiet. Houses have lights on inside, families moving through their evening. It’s peaceful, serene even. I relax and remember why I love walking at this time of night.  I hear a vehicle come up behind me, and I move to the right side of the street to let it pass. A white van pulls a bit ahead of me then stops. The side door opens.

“Excuse me, Miss?”

I pull out my earbud. I come abreast of the door. It happens fast, though it feels like slow-motion. He whips a bag over my head, his hand over my mouth and throws me into the van. I hit my head, breath whooshes out of me. Reaching up I try to tug off the hood, yet I’m propelled forward. I feel something closing around my neck,as the sack is pulled off, and a ball gag is forced between my lips. It’s fucking huge, way bigger than the ones Sir and I have played with. My jaw starts aching, and I’m slapping and fighting. My wrists are secured, and I can dimly see the outlines of a cage? No, it’s a gate. It separates the front driving area from the cargo area. Along the sides are a things I can’t fully see. There is only a tiny bit of light, he has curtains separating so someone looking in the windshield won’t see anything amiss.  And my head is stuck through an opening, and secured with straps.

I’m folded in half, head and hands stuck through the gating, when I feel him cutting my shirt. He’s not said a word beyond that initial “excuse me Miss” that caught me. I pull and tug on the gate, trying to scream but only mewling sounds come out. And drool. Lots of drool. I feel the cool metal of scissors, hear the snic snic snic snic  as he works his way up my tee-shirt. He tugs and pulls until I feel cool air on bare skin.

He snickers, and I feel the pinch of clamps against my nipples, and the tug of chain.

“You’re gonna want to stay on your feet, cunt. If you fall over, you might just rip those nips right off.”

I hear the side door open then shut quickly.  He comes around and jumps into the driver’s seat. I feel like he’s been there, van running, for a long time, but no one has come to see what’s going on.

My heart is racing, as he drives off. As I try to get my balance, I feel the tug in my tits. He must have fastened the chain to the fencing in front of me. Hurts. Hurts.

He called me slut.

He had nipple clamps.

And a ball gag.

I shake my head. It’s impossible. There is no way he could have tracked me. Traced me. I don’t have my city listed. How. How could he?

No it couldn’t be the asshat. Yet in my racing heart, I knew the truth. He had, indeed, found me.


The van drew to a stop, and I tried to hold myself up. My legs were trembling; we’d been driving for a long time. My nipples were throbbing, my jaw hurt like fuck-all, and there was a line of drool running from my mouth to the floor.

There was a final jerking of the van as he put it in park, then silence as he killed the motor. My heart was flying out of my chest, and panic was making it hard to breath. The side door opened, closed.

“Hello, fucktoy. I told you I knew where you were. It wasn’t nice of you to block me that way.”

I heard a click, and a small light went on behind me. His hands were on my hips.

“Love this easy access.”

He tugged down my skirt, then before I could even think about kicking him with my trembling, aching leg, he grabbed my ankle, threaded a rope around it, and tied it off to a bracket on the far side of the van, then my other ankle. I was spread eagle, but with a lot of slack, enough that I tried kicking. I only hit air.

Ignoring my struggles, He secured a wide strap around my hips, and pressed a button. In moments, my hips were lifted just a bit higher than my head, and I was suspended. He pulled the rope around my ankles until it was taut, and there I was, hanging in the air, legs splayed.

“Pretty as a picture. Remember, slut, I promised you pain. A great deal of pain.”

He came around to my side, and tugged the chain on my nipples. Tears of pain came instantly. They were already tender and hurting. Fiddling with the chain made the throb more relentless. I felt the pull on them grow more intense.

“Nips need a bit of stretching out,” He said, with a laugh. “These weights will keep you thinking about them. For a short while, anyway, until I give you something else to think about.”

I felt the heated burn from my nipples. It felt like licks of flame, starting at my nipples and fanning out. It was intense, deep, uncontrollable pain. I was screaming around the gag, which made him laugh.

“See? You needed this. Pain is good for cunts like you.”

He slapped my ass.

“Mmm, nice big ass. Just how I like ’em. Meat to be beat, I always say.”

He slapped the same spot repeatedly; each blow seemed to be harder than the last. Each jolt made my tits bounce and bobble, hanging face down as I was, each jarring slap tugging on the chain holding my nipples. Instead of tiny licks of pain now, it was fire, pure white-hot fire lancing up through my tortured nipples, as I hung there, suspended.




Snot, tears, drool splashed off of me with every blow. He kept hitting the same fucking spot.

“Fucking hurts, doesn’t it, cunt?” I lay, limply hanging, ignoring him, trying to not lose my mind. In a millisecond, his fist is in my hair, roughly pulling my head back and shaking it. My tits swing, the chain swings, the weights swing, and I scream. Try to scream.

“Answer me you fucking hole. Hurts. Don’t. It.”

He bobbles my head in a parody of agreement. His voice is mincing, mockingly high “Yes Master of Pain, it fucking hurts so much…” He reaches under me and grabs my right tit, squeezing it. He unbuckled the gag, lets it fall to the floor.

“Wanna hear you scream you fucking bitch cunt. SCREAM…” and his fingers clamp into the burning flesh of my tit, the clamp on my nipple folded over against the palm of his hand.

I want to disobey but I am unable to hold back the scream.

“We’re in my garage. Soundproofed.  Van is, too. Love the sounds you cunts make when I play. I told you I played hard, and I told you that you’d love it, too. Fucking slut. You bitches love this shit.”

He went back, and I heard something opening, shutting. Then a tap-tap along the back of my thigh.

“nothing like a little caning, eh, fuckhole?” The blows were rapid and sharp. Up one leg, and covering my ass. Across my back, even between my thighs. He kept hitting me, though fingers of his other hand began fondling my folds.

“Fucking slut. You’re cunt is wet. Soaked. You fucking little whore. You love your Sir. Right. Love him all you want, but you fucking crave what I’m giving you.”

His fingers slid in and out of my pussy, then split and pressed into my ass, too.  I hated that it felt good. I hated that my pussy grabbed his fucking, probing fingers.  The cane slapped against my ass and hips, all the while he fingered me.

His fingers left me, and he wiped the proof of my defeat across my ass. Leaning over me, he slapped the side of my tits with the cane. OH fuck that hurt. Gods it hurt. I was moaning, crying and begging for him to stop, please.

“yeah, right, you want me to stop?”

He threw the cane onto the floor. I felt him moving between my legs and I knew he was going to fuck me hard. His cock pressed against my pussy, and I heard the wet sound. He had to describe to me how it felt, to enter the hot wetness of my cunt. Had to laugh about my lying to him, to myself.


He fucked me hard. His hips banged his cock deep inside of me, and I felt it coming, my own orgasm. I tried to push it away. I didn’t want it. Didn’t want to feel that feeling.

His hand reached under my floating body and pinched my clit, and I came unglued. He groaned as my cunt clamped down on his dick, pulsing and squeezing. His fingers kept squeezing me, making me squeak and wriggle to try to get away. It hurt, it felt so good, it was so sensitive. As the aftershocks died down, he grabbed my hips and began fucking me like a wild man, slamming into me harder than before.

My tits were rocking, the chain tugging against the floor with the force of every fucking stroke. I came again, screaming, back arching, nipples tightening. I felt the squirt, heard it splatter on the floor of the van.

He pulled out of my pussy, and pushed his way into my ass.

“Gonna fill your asshole with baby juice,” he groaned, pushing balls deep.

I have a love-hate relationship with getting my ass fucked. Sir is so good at it, it hurts and I cum like a crazy bitch. It feels good and I cum like a crazy bitch. There is something about getting my ass fucked that drives me wild. Even when I think I don’t want it…it turns me into a fucking wild whore.

This was nothing short of an invasion. He took. He used. His cock hammered into my asshole like the Allies swarming over Iwo Jima. I felt another orgasm building, and then his hand grabbed my hair again, pulling my head back like a bad pony.

“CUM,” he growled.

I came.



dear readers. this story, this fantasy, has been building between nilla and Master for a week now. it remains to be finished…..


she struggled against the ropes.


she froze a moment at the sound of his voice, then renewed the frantic pull and tug


once more she ceased her movement. hard to say where the voice came from. above, behind? all was dark behind the mask that covered her head. She could breath, barely. The holes under her nostrils were small,  and she sucked in deep draughts of air.

she couldn’t exhale them through her mouth. the slick latex covered her lips completely, showing their curve, but with no gap there was no place for the expired air to go.

she breathed out her nose. remembered the yoga lessons she’d had years ago, in and out in equal measure, via the nose.

she couldn’t stop the fresh surge of panic. he’d said he would only keep her in here for a short time. she struggled again, feeling her body moving, but not touching anything.


His voice was everywhere and nowhere. He’d promised to be here, to not leave her in this empty darkness. her knees were tied, she was on her side, her feet fluttered uselessly. covered and bound she could make no sounds but panicked sqeeks, and even those were muffled.

she counted in her head to 10.

she counted in her head to 20.

how many times had he spoken. once. twice.

three times.

He’d fucking promised to not keep her here to guide her through her panic. where the fuck was He? the three strikes rule was stupid.


she screamed as she kicked and writhed and wriggled. something tickled along her exposed breast, zapping her right nipple painfully.

as she spun sightlessly through the air, he held out the violet wand, gently touching exposed flesh. Soon she would stop her struggles, and the game would end.

but for now she would struggle, and feel the caress of pain.


I stood and stared at Him, a bit aghast at my temerity.

What the fuck was I thinking, shouting at Him? Um, thinking about protecting myself.  He’s looking at me with that look. The scary look. Oh, gods I am so totally fucked.

His eyebrow popped up.

Double fuck.

I almost want to giggle, I’m so nervous. I shift from foot to foot, doing the ‘oh shit’ dance.

“Is ‘no’  your safeword?” His tone is reasonable, silky. Geezus He’s really pissed.

I shake my head from side to side. I feel tears start to gather in my eyes, but I blink them away.

“Is it?” His voice lashes out like a whip, and I whimper. Yes, I fucking did, I whimpered.

“B-b-but..” I stumble through my thoughts. He listens to me, and I can’t tell if it makes Him more or less annoyed with me.

“Did you not promise to do what I asked of you, all that I asked of you? Yes? I see.”

I am nodding my head like a puppet out of control.

“Then why did that word come out of you mouth? My sub, my slut, my whore, she does not tell me no. She may speak respectfully from her knees, she may beg, she may use her safeword. But ‘no’ does not exist in my slut’s vocabulary. Perhaps …” He pauses, looking at me speculatively.

“Oh please, Master, don’t  say it, I beg of you!” Sinking to the floor, I wrap my arms around his legs, look imploringly up at him. I can’t stand for him to think I am not willing to be fully, completely his.

Our eyes lock. Is this war? I’m praying for him to capitulate, to take it all back. Yet I know him, I fucking know he’s going to ask me if I am still his slut. And I am, I am…just…I never thought he’d go to this extreme.

Yet the need to please him curdles my stomach.

“It will hurt,” I whisper against his knees.

“Damn straight.”

I look up at him, sure that now I’m a mess, tears and mascara.

“Either you will capitulate, or you will go. It’s as simple as that. You are my slut, my property, or you are not. I cannot, will not make it any more complicated than that. I want my property the way I want it. You have no more right to say ‘no’ to my decision, than you would should I decide to shave you bald, or paint my front door sky-blue-pink.”

There was impatience here. Do it and get the fuck on with it. That implacable will of his, bumping hard against my stubbornness.

“Get up.”

Slowly I rise, tilt my head to look at him.

“Stay and comply. Or go.”

We look at each other.

I blink first.

I walk to the cross and wait for Him to acknowledge my defeat. He buckles my wrists and ankles, and fastens a restraint around my waist, “just in case.”

That sends a frisson of fear right through me.

“You may start now,” He speaks to the man who has waited patiently through this exchange. The man who will pierce my nipples, then tattoo the word ‘slut‘ across the top of my pussy.


They met for the first time during the party. He’d mentioned it during their weekly phone call, since they had yet to meet in real life. His voice was thick and sexy, with a hint of mean that just made her tingle in all the right places.

He’d given her little tasks to accomplish in the three weeks that they’d been playing; fuck herself at work with a cucumber, then eat it with her lunch salad had been the latest ‘dirty task’.  Last week He’d had her put pegs on her nipples, then put her tits on the copier and hit ‘print’. Once the picture came out, and while still pegged, she took  a picture of the photocopy with her cell, and sent it to him. It was a full hour later that he had sent the text, allowing her to remove the pins. She’d had to do it there in her cubicle, sliding her fingers into her bra, unclasping the biting pegs from her burning nipples, hoping someone didn’t pop in just as she slid the clothespin out of her shirt.  Her heart raced when she heard footsteps, her hand snugged deep in her left cup, which had added another layer of fear/dread/excitement to the task, but they had walked on past without stopping.

Each nasty kinky task had turned her on. Hard to say whether it was the fear of getting caught, the degrading things he had her do, or what. But he was a real asshole, and she loved that he treated her so roughly.


He saw her come into the club. Sweet little fucktard had taken him up on it! Mentally he rubbed his hands together.  Weeks of hard work and he was finally gonna score. He walked around the bar, tapping shoulders, nodding towards his slut as she made her way to the bar to order the glass of white wine He’d commanded of her.


He sidled up to her at the bar, laying his hand against her ass and poking her dress into her asscrack.

“Don’t turn around. You know what I want, dontcha, you fucking cunt?”

She swallowed hard. She did know, He had told her in his cruel way. He was going to fuck her here, during the party. There were lots of different people here; this was a private event for the D/s community. She’d never seen so many corsets and fishnets gathered in one place in her life. She tried not to gawk, didn’t want her newness showing. She was nervous. Scared. Yet her Dom would take care of her. He’d promised to show her a fucking good time. She wanted to turn, wanted to see her Dom. Yet just having his hands on her was so good.

So very good.

Her wine appeared before her, as the bartender gave her a knowing wink. She slid a ten dollar bill across the bar, nervously licking her lips. He sauntered off with it, and she wondered if he’d be back with change or assumed that she normally paid that much for a glass of wine.

Her Dom’s breath was hot against her ear, his breath smelling like coffee. His fingers poked into her asscrack.

“You will be a good girl for me tonight, won’t you? You even dressed just as I told you to. Good girl.”

The praise warming her, making her clit thump. He leaned against her, and emptied a capsule into her wine glass, stirring it with his finger.

“Drink it.” His voice was rough, demanding.

She swallowed nervously, her throat closing in fear.

“I don’t…do …drugs…” she whispered.

“It will ..relax you. It’s not bad for you.”

She wanted to look at him, but she’d been warned not to. His hand lifted the hem of her dress, baring her ass. Fingers pinched along her crack, making her jump with every snick of fingernails against flesh.

“Remember your promise to be obedient.”

There was an implied threat there. He’d told her previously that he demanded obedience from his sluts, that he didn’t fuck around with girls who weren’t committed to serving with their full effort. He demanded, expected, perfect obedience to his wishes, first time, every time.

She lifted the glass and drank. When she would have lowered it to the bar, his finger under the base held it pressed to her lips. Swallowing down her fear, she finished the wine.


She felt fine.

Finer than fine. She felt licks of fire on her skin. She was achingly aware, alive, throbbing with a raw need. Her clitoris felt like it had swollen, a more feminine version of a penis, aching with sex-need. Her pussy oozed a continuous stream of juice.

Her head lolled back, and she looked at him for the first time. His hand slapped her cheek, hard enough to make her head wobble. She giggled. He slapped her again, then kissed her, hard. His teeth bit into her bottom lip, making her moan.

It hurt.

The ache in her lip pulsed with an echo between her legs. His fingers twisted into her hair, holding her immobile. Hands were on her tits. Her shirtdress was open, her bra pulled up, baring her tits. Hands molded each one, then pinched her nipples. She felt a slap on her right tit, while her left was squeezed tightly.

How was that possible, her half-sleeping brain mused. His hand was in her hair, and slapping her cheek. How could they be on her tits, too?

There was a snap of elastic against her tit. And a tugging. When he finally released her hair, she looked down. A dark-skinned hand was sliding thick elastic bands over her swelling tit. There were already 5 or more in place, she could see the different colors of bands. The ache was something she had never felt before. Her entire breast hurt.  There was a hand snaking between her legs, rubbing her slit through her panties.

“Take them off.”

Rising, obedient, she bent to shimmy out of the panties. Hands grabbed her head, and a thick cock pressed against her lips.

“suck it, cunt!” The voice was gruff. Was it His? Someone else’s? She had almost no experience with fellatio. Her last boyfriend had a very low sex-drive, and it was hard to even get him to fuck her occasionally.

“I..” she began, but her open mouth was quickly filled. The taste was …different. The head was smooth and round and very big. She wanted to pull away, to explain that she couldn’t fit it all in her mouth, but he kept pressing deeper into her mouth.

When he hit the back of her throat, she panicked. Trying to press him out with her tongue, she gagged. His hands held her head like a melon, pulling her tight onto his cock.

Bent in half, hands grasping her panties, she tried to pull away, but it was impossible. There were hands on her hips, the feeling of a second cock pushing into her pussy. The sounds of a man’s heartfelt groan as he sank, balls deep, into her hot wet hole.

Her tit throbbed. As she was double-stuffed, double fucked, she caught glimpses of it bobbing. It was fat and round and purpled. Her nipple was nearly black.  There was a silver clamp on it that she didn’t remember even being applied.

The cock slipped down her throat. For a moment it felt like she was going to die, but her breath snuck up and out her nose. She realized she wouldn’t expire from lack of oxygen, if she kept breathing through her nose. Relaxing, she felt the cock sink deeper into her throat.

“My turn.”

That husky voice belonged to a woman! Yet she felt the unmistakable press of a cock against her pussy. It was large, yet inch by inch she felt herself impaled with it.

The sensations were overwhelming. Her throat began to ache from being rubbed over and again by the dick working there, while her pussy felt stretched around the shaft now plunging in and out of it.

“You’re such a dirty slut, aren’t you?”

Her Dom’s voice was at her ear.

“Dirty girl, such a dirty whore. Fucked in the mouth, fucked in the pussy.”

His words made her blush, and wet. The orgasm hit her without warning, as her back arched and her belly clamped hard on the rod stuffing her. The taste of semen filled her mouth, yet before she could even lick her lips of the dribble, another cock was stuffed in.

She was ordered to suck it good, and it wasn’t long before he too ejaculated into her mouth.

“Give me those.” It was the voice of her Dom again. “Going to fill you up, slut. Just like you need. Just like you crave.”

There was a push, a pop, another push. Her asshole gave way to bead after bead.

She gasped, the sensation was surreal. The beads got larger, then larger still.

“Can’t…” she gasped hoarsely.

“You sure as fuck can and will.” It was the voice of the woman fucking her pussy. She felt the last painful ‘pop’ as the largest bead was shoved into her rectum. She was full. So painfully, awesomely full. It hurt, hurt, so good, so bad.

“Stand her up,” commanded the woman behind her. Her pussy was filled with the Domme’s cock. Her tit throbbed. It was swollen like a giant, fat Concord grape.

Her arms were pulled up and behind the Domme’s head, and she felt cuffs tighten around her wrists. Her tits thrust out, her asshole pounded to a jungle beat, and she felt her juices oozing past the fat dildo buried in her cunt and slide fluidly down her thighs.

The slap of the crop brought her up short. Her tit screamed. He’d hit the tortured one, the pain an added escalation. A flurry of blows, so fast that her eyes couldn’t follow them, then moments later, pain. The welts rose with the pain, red lines crisscrossing her tits.

A second crop slapped at her upper thighs.  The pain was everywhere, overwhelming. She was dizzy with it, with the wanton cravings boiling in her blood. Pressing back against the woman holding her she felt the shaft inside her press against a spot. Oh gods!

A wiggle and another flood of sensations.

“Fucking cunt is getting herself off.” The Domme laughed. “Go ahead whore, jack your pussy off on my cock.”

The slapping of the crops ceased for a moment as she hung, gasping, on the Domme’s tool. The press of a knife against her tit had her quaking in fear, but the snapping of the elastics were more painful than that blade.

The sudden rushing of blood through her swollen tit would have driven her to her knees had she not been impaled by the Domme. Her mouth opened in a wordless yelp, a thin squeal of pain breaking forth. Her head fell back against the Mistress’ shoulder, as her attention was captured by the incredible pain of her tit.

A sharp snap of a crop against the clamp on her nipple made her cry out loudly.

“Aaah, the cunt wakens,” said a voice. There were more slaps, pussy, belly thighs again. Her tits. Her nipples. The clamps jiggled, the left one popping off.

That hurt more than the cropping, when it snapped off her flesh, little rubber teeth still biting into her sensitize nub as it slid away, left to hang by the chain. Her right nipple began to burn; with every slash to her belly and thighs, the chain was smacked, adding to the pull and tug of the remaining clamp.

And then it was over. The crops were put away, and she was pulled across the room by her cuffed wrists. Her hands were fastened over her head, a pillow under her neck, when a pair of thighs nestled to each side of her head. Knees pressed against her hair, fanned there, now pulled painfully. The tips of sharply pointed stiletto toes pressed into each shoulder, as a wet pussy began to cover her face.

“My turn, slut. Do me, do me good.”

Oh my god. She was going to eat the pussy of the Domme? There was no way to refuse, to fight. Her words were silenced by the wet folds of flesh pressed against her mouth; her nose was bumped as the Mistress began humping her mouth.

“Lick me, you fucking cunt!” She felt the awful pinch of long nails against her tit and realized that the Mistress had her tit grasped tightly in her hand. Her thumbnail pressed against the base of her nipple making her gasp. She tasted pussy juice, and began to lick. There was moaning above her, and squirming against her lips as she worked.

She yelped against those wet folds as the beads were pulled out of her ass slowly.







until the last slid free from her asshole.  There was a feeling of intense relief as her rectum was finally emptied.

“All nice and loose now.”

“Hope not too loose.”

Hands against her hips. Pressing against her anus. Pressing against her pussylips. Shoulders aching from being stretched. A burning ache in her ass, stretched to widely. No room in her pussy for the fullness pressing there.

Her mouth opened, her body struggling for freedom, at last, freedom from the assault on all of her straining holes. The scream boiled up, pouring into the splayed lips of the pussy grinding against her mouth.

“Mmmmmmmm” from the Domme who ground down, harder. “That’s it fucktoy, lick my pussy clean.”

“Tight.” This growled from her Dom, buried to the balls in her ass.

“Fuckin’ Shit is hotttt,” moaned the unseen man in her cunt. She grunted, straining to move…too much, too much to bear.


She woke slowly. Her body hurt, everywhere. She leaned up on one elbow, reaching for the light. She wasn’t on her bed. Blinking she tried to orient herself.


The rug was raspy against her hip. Slowly she recognized her living room. There was a foul taste in her mouth; her body smelled equally foul.  Her anus throbbed in time to her heartbeat, and her throat was raw when she tried to swallow.

What the fuck had happened to her?


A hot shower helped.

She’d seen the crisscrossed lines on her breasts, her ass, as she turned the water on hot. Her face was coated with dry, white stick-um.


Her belly, thighs, even her feet were riddled with the dry and itchy spots. She had no memory of where she had been, or how she’d gotten home, let alone waking, naked, on her living room floor.

After her shower, she brewed a cup of tea, rubbing the nagging headache at the base of her skull. Two aspirin later, the edge of that dulled to manageable.

She found her phone, saw her calls record had been deleted. Her texts were the same. Her phone was blank.

Her Dom.

She had gone to meet him…somewhere. She forgot where, actually. Which was strange since she had a good memory for driving places. She booted up her computer while making yet another cuppa, hoping it would push off her lethargy.

His number was in his third email, she remembered that.

She dialed.

I’m sorry. The number you have dialed is no longer in service.


This is longer than any other dark fantasy…there’s no moral to it, just a piece of jack-off fiction…nilla is such a horny girl … 🙂