She told him how much she wanted to feel his hands on her, gripping her. Not painfully, but with possession. With intent. Hold me like I might get away, she said.

What else? He wanted to know.

She couldn’t say it. It was too foreign a concept to her own mind, that word she so desperately needed to hear. If she said it aloud, it might lose something, become less.

Tell me, baby girl. His voice in her ear made her heart accelerate, her breath come faster, raised gooseflesh along her shoulders and arms and down her thighs. It did more than that. Do you know how badly I want to see you? Want to put my hands on you, feel your skin, your warmth, put my fingers in MY cunt and feel your desire for me? he said

Yes, she whimpered. That. That’s what else.


She listened to him breathe. Listened to her body clamor.

Why can’t you tell me, baby? Don’t be afraid.

If you were here, she said, I would whisper it. With my lips against your ear, and your arms around me.

Sweetheart, it was almost a croon. I am here. I am wrapped around you in every way you can imagine, baby girl. Do you know why?

Her heart leapt again because he was going to say it. The one thing she needed to hear. Why, Daddy? She whispered against the mouthpiece, anticipation causing her voice to tremble..

Because. You are mine.

A writer’s thoughts

I am still thinking about Stella. It’s been months since I worked on that project, but I’ve gone back and read some of the excerpts I posted. In my own heart, I believe it’s some of the strongest writing I’ve done.

But my own thoughts have carried me in a different direction, different from the one I thought Stella was headed. At the same time, even those months back, I see hints in her of where I am now, of the Dominant fighting the submissive. I stop to wonder, can we hold both in the same shell? Can the two live in the same ‘house’ and co-exist? Or perhaps do different people bring out different sides to play? Is it about finding what fits most comfortably in any given moment?

Perhaps Stella should come with me. I think about her a lot. I don’t know if she is me, or a composite of me; I don’t know if she’s an ideal I carry in my mind, a creation through which I can live vicariously. Perhaps she’s the parts of me I like. Or the ones I don’t like. All I know is, she’s here. She doesn’t appear to be leaving.

I still bow up at the thought of writing a ‘novel.’ It’s almost a dirty word in the reaction it gets from me. Part of Stella is trying to figure out how and where she fits. How many words is she? How many words am I? Sometimes I feel like the Encyclopedia Brittanica. Most often these days I feel like a status update. What am I? I’m fine.

She’s not leaving though. Not dying out or growing weaker. Even while I can’t seem to find the words right now, she’s hovering there, tapping me on the shoulder.

I also wonder if I’m up to publishing again. If I pull her out here where all can see, do I have what it takes to take it all the way? And does it matter whether the world knows her or not?

I think these thoughts while I go through my days, while I work in the garden, care for the animals, walk the dog, prepare dinner, or watch TV at night. I get flashes of inspiration while I’m doing laundry or cleaning the toilet. They’re like mists right now. I can’t catch them. That’s not important; what is important is that they’re there.

She’s there.

F4TF – #18 Pet Names


Do you and your partner have pet names for each other? Do you use them in private or in public? How do you feel about cutesy names like babe, honey, sugar? Are you ok with being affectionately called slut or bitch? Spill the beans! Dare to tell us your pet name!


I’ve always been torn on this subject. As a born and raised Southern girl, there is the casual use of “hon,” “sweetie” and “dear”… casual meaning, we will address complete strangers this way! I’ve been known to start a conversation with a walmart checker with, “How are you today, hon?” And even more often am I referred to the same, “What can I help you with, sweetie?”

We’re a fakely warm culture, down here in Dixie. I will likely get into trouble for saying that, and perhaps fake isn’t the right word. I think if someone, even a stranger, uses those words, they are meant to be friendly and open and make you feel good; that is how I use them. I will often use a casual endearment if I can tell a stranger is having a bad day. It’s an instinct for me to reach out and see if I can offer a little kindness, let them know they’re not alone. But I’ve been told by my non-southern friends that we’re often seen as disingenuous. I suppose that’s something you just have to take on an individual basis. Get to know me, and you’ll know I’m anything but.

As far as using them in personal relationships, they are a sign of deeper affection for me. And sometimes I have a hard time finding the one that fits. My OH and I use mostly  ‘darlin’ and ‘hon.’



Check out Food For Thought Friday and tell everyone what you think!


She was a nice girl,. That’s what they called her to her face. Maybe she was, or used to be. There was a time when doing good mattered and made a difference, and being good mattered and made a difference.

Her wrists chafed. The ties weren’t budging, and he’d been out of the room for what seemed like forever. She was suddenly cold, and the dim lighting and draft from some unknown source weren’t helping.

Nice girls didn’t go home with strangers. Didn’t let themselves be stripped naked and tied spread-eagle to a bed bare of all but the fitted sheet. Didn’t allow men without last names to touch their skin with their hands and tongues… she shivered. It felt good.

A stronger draft swept over her, and her eyes strained as though she might be able to see through the blindfold if she tried hard enough.

Each time the darkness closed in, because the blindfold was the one compulsory thing, she thought about losing them. Not just this one here tonight. He was handsome in a strong chinned Errol Flynn sort of way. They all looked similar; in age, in carriage and countenance, all bordering on the unreachable with silver hair in varying degrees of retreat, all with facial hair but always groomed, all with the bearing of powerful businessmen even when dressed down. Even when naked. They carried their successes and failures similarly. Each time the darkness was sealed by the snugness around her head she thought of the moment they would leave, when she was finally fucked senseless, trembling on the brink of oblivion…

Each one she initially spoke to in the bar, or at a table, or once standing by the trunk of his Lincoln; she instructed there was to be no aftercare. Leave me where I am, leave me unbound and in relative security, but leave.

None had ever argued. She wondered if it was a test. If one of them did argue, perhaps he had something for her. Something she could keep.

She felt something like pain but not quite against her left nipple, and his breath over her face. Then it ran, like the touch of a feather, skating over the quivering mound of her soft breast, running between, then racing away over her ribcage. Ice. His tongue touched her lips and she reached for it. He tasted good, like charcoal and bourbon and mints. He teased, licked, bit, then devoured her mouth, and she arched against his restraints and felt the arousal spike, swell and run. The ice cube touched her lower lip. She wished she could see him.

Her mind began to float as it moved over her chin, her throat, dissecting her undulating body down the center. He alternated with his heated kisses, and the juxtaposition left her trembling and aching and not knowing what would come next.

She barely heard when, well into their session with her body trembling on the brink of yet another climax and the cooling sweat peaking her nipples and making her crave his warmth, he asked if he could remove the blindfold.

When she didn’t answer, he asked again. His voice was deep and smooth, and indicated he was near her head, though his hand was on her cunt… or in it. She wondered why he would ask, but shook her head in the negative.

His cock painted the outline of her lips and she moaned as she strained for it. “Why not, little girl?” He asked softly. He pulled back, allowing her only the smallest taste. Her pussy throbbed as he fingered her, pushing her higher.

She couldn’t answer with words. The sounds being torn from her were not ones of rationale. They were the sounds of primal hunger and need. He drove his thumb against her clit, left, then spanked her cunt, a sharp unexpected slap. She screamed and crested. He slapped again and she tipped over. Then his mouth was on her, sucking and biting, and with each sensation she crested and dropped lower. Her limbs were heavy and numb, her body convulsing; she was far past any control she may have had. Her voice grew hoarse until the only sounds she made were raspy pants. She lost track of him. Lost track of everything…

When she woke, her body felt both light and ached. Her limbs were free, she was covered with a thick soft fleece, and the blindfold was still in place. Her fingers found it and peeled it away. She tested herself, stretched, sighed, noted the guttering light of a candle almost burned to its death on the table beneath the window.

A noise drew her eyes to the dark corner behind the halo cast by the candle. She made out the outline of black trousers, ankle over knee, the light gleaming off a shined shoe.

“What the fuck!” She hissed, pulling the fleece to cover herself. Her heart pounded. “We talked about this!”

He cleared his throat. “Yes. But you were in no state to be left.”

“Not your call.”

“Entirely my call.”

She sat up and scooted her body back against the headboard. “Well I’m fine, as you can see. So you can go. Please.”

“I see no such thing. That was an intense session, little one.”

She cast about in her mind for his name. Joshua? James? Johnathon? Fuck. “They’re all intense. That’s the point.”

“I’m aware. And do men actually agree to just leave?”

“You did!”

“No, I agreed to no aftercare.”

“And what do you call this?” She indicated the blanket.

“Not aftercare. Care, maybe. But a bare minimum.”

“Please go. I’m fine.”

“I paid for the room. It’s my right to occupy it until eleven tomorrow morning. Or this morning, rather,” he amended, looking at his watch.

“Fine,” she scooted off the bed and began looking for her clothes, struggling and failing to keep the fleece wrapped around her naked body. “Then I’ll go.”

“Suit yourself.”

She turned on the lamp to aid her search, and he was revealed. He was very handsome, very hard in the set of his face. He watched without apology. His suit jacket and tie were over the back of a chair, and his white cuffed sleeves were loosed and rolled up his forearms, his collar open but his shirt tucked into his creased pants.

She found her odds and ends, a little alarmed at the quiver in her thighs. She wanted to sit, but didn’t care to show any weakness. “Excuse me, do you mind?”

He smiled. “No.” But he didn’t move. “How often do you do this?”

“That’s none of your business.”

He finally moved, rose and crossed the space between them. He knelt on the old shag and took the thong from her, studied it, turned it; it looked flimsy in his large hands. He held it out for her to step into, and she automatically put her hands on his shoulders. He pulled it up slowly, carefully, his fingers grazing her skin. He eased her back and she sat on the bed.

He picked up a stocking. “My fingers might run it,” he murmured, but he gathered it, then set her foot on his knee. He rolled the black silk up her leg, over her knee, and smoothed the lace top against her thigh. He repeated with the other.
She couldn’t believe she was allowing him.

“Did you drive?”


“I’ll drive you home.”

“You most certainly will not.” She’d put her arms through the straps of her bra. He stood and leaned over her so his shirt brushed her face and fastened it behind her back. Then he picked up the little black number he’d earlier watched her wriggle out of.


She raised them without thinking. He slipped it over her head, urged her to stand and turn, and slid the zipper up.

“I will.”

She wanted to say his name, but it wouldn’t come to her. Her mouth moved like that of a fish while her brain tried to form an argument.

“Or, we can stay right here until I’m satisfied that you’re okay to leave.”

Fuck it. She had no intention of telling him where she lived. No intention of including him in any reality she had to face when the day arrived. “Fine.” She sat back on the bed. “And when will that be?”

He returned to the chair in the corner. “I don’t know. How long does it usually take before you’re ready to go home?”

She usually stumbled up her front walk just before first light. “It depends.”

“I suppose we’ll know it when we see it.”

She looked at him, reclaiming the woman who had brought him here. Because she brought him here. And he was more than willing to follow, like a bull on the scent. Her scent. “Did touching me turn you on?”


“Just now?” She clarified.

“It did. I don’t make a habit of putting women’s clothes on.”

“You wouldn’t let me taste you. Earlier.”

He said nothing. His fingers curled into his palms on the arms of the chair.

“Why not?”

“I wanted to see your eyes. Why the blindfold?”

“I like being blindfolded. Surely that’s not uncommon.”

“No. But you seemed a little – anal – about it.” There was a wicked glimmer in his grey eyes.

She laid back. Allowed the short skirt on the dress to inch up her thighs. “You want to fuck me?”


She opened her legs then, and slipped her fingers beneath the lace thong, pulling it aside so he could see.

He rose and crossed the distance again. As he did, he removed the trousers and his white briefs. He was fully erect, waving and dripping.

She held out the blindfold.

“No.” he grabbed her by the ankles and pulled her to him, quickly, roughly. He took the blindfold from her hand and flung it across the room, then flipped her over, his fingers gouging the generous flesh of her hips. He penetrated in a single brutal movement that made her cry out.

She put her head down, covered her eyes with her hands.

He pounded her. Used her, she felt it. And she thought she should feel fear, but she didn’t. As long as her eyes were closed against it, as long as she didn’t see him… His hand smacked her ass hard enough she felt the heat from the reddening. He drove over and over, hitting the end of her, bruising her. She pressed her palms into her eye sockets till the lights exploded.

He flipped her to her back and shoved her thighs into her breasts. He plunged again, deeper, harder, and she felt her palms grow wet. “What are you doing?” He demanded. “Look at me.”

She ignored him.

He grabbed her wrists and tried to pull her hands away but she pushed back with her knees. He came at her again, and this time succeeded. It made no difference. She kept her lids squeezed shut. “Fucking slut,” he murmured. But his movements gentled. He pulled back a bit, began to use his cock to pleasure her. But she was numb. She didn’t even feel him come, simply knew by his change in breath, in pace, his withdrawing.

The mattress gave as he laid down beside her. Stretched his body along hers, still wearing his shirt. The fabric caressed her as he gathered her against his chest, his breath still coming hard. He held her close, and she listened to the pound of his heart. “I’m sorry,” he said.

It didn’t matter. She would never see him again.

After a little while, he left her. Rose and covered her. She listened to him dress, and listened to the door lock behind him. She heard his car start, and listened to it pull away. She thought if she opened her eyes she might be blind, that it felt more like blood than tears. She sank into the darkness and waited for morning.

The Coffee House

Finally, he was coming through. Our first face to face meeting after months of conversation, of emails and chats and video calls. We’d agreed on a little coffee house in a little town off the Interstate; not too far off his path and far enough off mine. I was grateful I didn’t have to go farther this time. It helped my nerves not to be faced with such a leap out of my comfort zone. I knew in my heart I’d drive any distance for that first look, first embrace… that first kiss.

I arrived far too early. I was afraid of missing him; he said we wouldn’t have long. Amazing how closely euphoria and sorrow can live.

It was a nice day; a bit windy and still needed a fleece, but sunny. I dressed simply in a black knit top and straight dark denim skirt, finished with stockings and black leather boots. I leaned back against the fender of my Jeep.

My heart was doing a series of gymnastics. I took deep breaths as the cars streamed in and out of the lot. I’d parked at the back where I could see the entrance but was out of the way, unnoticed. Would he like what he saw? I was painfully and deliriously aware of every detail of my person; from my freshly exfoliated skin to my shaved and wet pussy and my choices of underwear and body spray. I’d taken the juices from inside and dabbed them on the pressure points of my temples, throat and behind my earlobes. I wasn’t convinced I’d be good enough, but I needed to believe I was. If I didn’t I’d run. I’d call and give a bogus story about car trouble.

I knew it was him the second he pulled in. I hugged my arms under my breasts and tried to look casual and confident. I couldn’t see his expression for the distance and the glass, but he came right for me, pulling into the space adjacent. Killed the engine. I didn’t know what to do with myself, or how to calm my errant heartbeat. I stood where I was at the rear of the car looking at the ground and the sky and smiling a smile I hoped didn’t show as many nerves as I felt.

I heard the door open and close. The clamor of traffic and geese and voices muffled and far off. The heavy conflicting odors of diesel and donuts. The sound of his approaching footfalls, and his voice saying, “Well, hello there, sexy girl.”

I was tongue tied but I smiled, then his arms were around me. I wrapped mine around his neck and held on like I might never let go. I felt his heartbeat, his heat, heard his breath; I held on to the reality, the physicality of him. He was hot and solid and unmoving. I thought maybe I was holding on too tight, or for too long, but he wasn’t letting go either. We stayed and swayed and embraced, and he whispered against my ear in that deep familiar voice, “Cat got your tongue?” He made me laugh. Everything was okay.

He finally pulled back. Not far, only enough to look into my face, his eyes and lips so close; his hand moved to the back of my neck. He said, “I can’t believe it,” and his face was leaning closer. His tongue brushed the outline of my lips before becoming more insistent until he was kissing me in a way I’d never been kissed. I tasted his hunger. His white whiskers scratched and tickled. I heard both our pulses. His clothes were moving over his skin under my touch and his hands slid lower until he pulled me firmly into his body, against his hard cock. My insides turned molten, the heat bubbling through me.

When we needed to breathe, I put my hands on either side of his neck, kept my hips pressed against his, and leaned our foreheads together. “Wow,” was all I managed.

“I want to make you mine. Right here,” he growled. There was a glint in his dark eyes, and I smiled and flushed. I pulled him in closer, adjusted his big coat to shield what I was doing from prying eyes. I caught his gaze once again with a wanton boldness that surprised me as I slid my hand down the front of my skirt, into my lace panties, deeper and deeper, my breath catching. He braced his hands on the car on either side, creating a sanctuary. I couldn’t believe I had my fingers in my cunt while a man I’d just met watched, in a public parking lot on a bright sunny day… I flushed deeper, and he stared with something that may have been wonder on his face. Or naked lust. I was too caught in the moment to differentiate.

I brought my hand back up and out, taking it to his lips. It was shining, dripping. “Taste?” I whispered.

He never let my eyes go as he took what I offered. I thought I could come just feeling his heat and saliva, his teeth, his tongue, the insistent twitch of that cock I so badly wanted to suck… he carefully, hungrily cleaned every trace from my fingers. I knew he approved; I could feel it, see it. “You are a little vixen, aren’t you?” he smiled then.

“We could get in the car, I could-”

His grin grew, and he pulled me into another hug, kissing my cheek and my hair. “No. No, not like this. Let’s go inside, I’ll buy you a coffee. Let’s talk.”

“You sure?” But he had my hand and we were walking to the building.

“Yes. But that desire of yours, baby girl, that’s going to get you into trouble.”

We sat in the farthest corner where it was quiet, coffee steaming between us. “I wish we had more time,” he said.

“Seems we’re always wishing for that unicorn.”

“Yes, it does. How are you? Besides wet and very tasty.”

I flushed again, hotter still. His gaze was unrelenting, and left me feeling stripped bare. He didn’t stop at the surface. He kept looking, digging, peeling. What I had known of him in that regard over distance didn’t hold a candle to his intensity in person. “I am those things,” I laughed. “I’m just really glad to be here. Been a long time coming.”

“It’s just the beginning, Julia.”

I searched him.

He reached across the table and I put my hand in his. He squeezed it, caressed my skin with his thumb. “You have no idea what I’m thinking of doing to you right now, Sweetie.”

“I bet I do,” I challenged.

His eyes sparked. The smile didn’t quite reach his mouth. “Given more time, I’d drag you to the nearest hotel.”

“Like Fred Flintstone?”

That got a soft laugh. “Well, no. In that case, I’d drag you to my car and paddle us there.” He sipped his coffee. “You’re uncomfortable.”

I met his gaze. “No. No, I’m a lot of things. Uncertain. Excited. Dreading saying goodbye to you. But not uncomfortable.”

“Why are you uncertain?”

I looked out the window and squeezed his hand back. “This meeting is so brief, Daniel. But it changes everything.”


“I wonder if you’re still sure.”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation.


He squeezed harder until I looked at him. “Yes.”

“It just makes me want more of you.” It was a confession I felt to the bottom of my soul, but had difficulty saying aloud. It left me feeling vulnerable. I cast my eyes down, needing to hide from him the truth of how deeply I was feeling everything.

He suddenly let go of my hand, got up and slid into the booth beside me. He turned my head toward him and kissed me. It went beyond the first kiss… it was slow, sensuous, probing. I had the sensation of being savored. His hand trailed along my jaw and down my throat, down between my breasts. He brushed to the side, let his fingers sweep the undercurve then find the hard nipple, and he gave a gentle pinch, a tweak, before dropping it to my knee.

“Don’t let your coffee get cold,” he teased softly. But his hand was sliding higher, and it was his fingers on my bare skin. “You’re so soft. I want to put my tongue right here,” and his fingers pinched the delicate skin of my inner thigh, barely a hand’s breadth from my throbbing pussy.

I stifled a whimper.”You’re such a tease,” I croaked.

“Me?” he scoffed mildly. “Touch me.”

My eyes glanced around and my pulse jumped.

“No one can see. Touch me. Feel what you do to me.”

More intense eye contact as I let my hand slide down his crisp shirtfront to his belt buckle, where I paused. His breath caught. His fingers inched higher. I physically restrained myself from scooting to meet them.

“Do it.”

I did. No more hesitation. And that first brand on my palm, feeling him throb and listening to the growl in his chest. “I want you,” I whispered against his neck as my fingers closed around him through his jeans. “I want to swallow you. Lick you. Suck you till you can’t help but fuck my mouth-”

“Can I top you guys up?” a cheerful voice asked.

I held still, ducked my head and heard and felt him turn slightly, say no thank you, and felt his hand leave and his arm go around my shoulders. I still had hold of his cock beneath the table, and he was even harder than before.

“You like that?” he whispered against my hair when she was gone. “It’s all yours, Sweetie.”

I stroked slowly. Firmly.

“Careful,” he warned.


I felt his tongue dip into my ear sending a shower of goosebumps down my back and arms. “You’ll make me come.”

“What if I want to?” I did. I wanted to feel him spasm, to watch his eyes while he released, to hold him in my hand and kiss his mouth and know I was responsible for the pleasure he felt. I wanted it more than I had ever wanted anything.

He growled again.The tension strummed through every part of his body, like a guitar string wound too tightly just before it frays and snaps, and I realized how tense my own was. I eased back, ran my hand along his thigh and looked at him. He kissed me again. Harder, a nip of my lower lip that sent an arrow of sensation through my nipples and clit and a fresh flood of desire from my cunt.

“When I can walk again, we’ll go outside. It’s getting close.”

I thought I might cry. Not gentle tears of longing, but a sorrowful wail that was filling my chest and making my head ache. I bit it back.

He rested his hand on my thigh, on top of my denim skirt, while we sipped our coffee in silence. The familiarity and weight of it was both titillating and comforting. I would feel it there long after this day had passed, and it would continue to awaken arousal each time I did.

He took out his wallet, tossed down a bill, and took my hand. “Come on.”

I wanted to dig in like a fractious young horse. Wanted to physically keep him here. But I resisted.

He held my hand firmly in both of his, my arm clasped against his body. It was gentle but unyielding, possessive. I wondered who this woman was that I loved it so.

“Listen to me,” he said as we walked. “Are you listening?”


“You’re everything you claimed to be, and then some. You are amazing, beautiful, funny, intelligent… you challenge me on many levels. We start here. I need you to understand that.”

His words registered and I tried to believe them. “Okay.”

“I don’t want you leaving here today wondering what I’m thinking.”

I laughed. “You know me well.”

“I think so. What I’m thinking is, I want you. All of you, everything you’ll give me. And it will take work and patience, for both of us. But it will be worth it. You’re worth it.”

“Thank you. We are. And I can be patient.Sorry, I’m being ridiculous.” I was crying and cursing myself for it while trying to hide it from him. He stopped us again and pulled me close.

“None of that. This is a happy day, Julia. It could have gone either way. Sometimes you can click over distance but not be able to tolerate someone up close.”

“You feel it?”

He hugged tighter. “Oh yeah. I feel it.”

We kept walking and he let me dry my eyes. I looked at him and smiled. “I can live on these feelings for awhile, Daniel. As long as it takes.”

“Not too long. I intend to give you more feelings than we’ve had time for today.” We were back to the cars. “I’m leaving here far hungrier than when I arrived.” I loved his gentle teasing, his dry humor; they put me at ease.

I looked at him boldly. “I want to taste you. Give me five minutes.” I grinned.

He laughed. “Tempting. Very tempting.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” he stepped close and took my face between his hands. They were strong and textured by callous. I wanted to feel them on the most intimate parts of me, parts that no one got to touch except him. “I get to go first.” He kissed my lips, then my mouth. We stood in the lengthening sunshine and feasted on one another like eager teenagers. Our bodies pressed together, our tongues dancing and exploring… I sank into it as though into a hot bath. My hands explored his hair, his smooth cheeks, neck and broad shoulders, one finally coming to rest over his heart.

He broke it with a soft groan. “It’s time.”

I nodded. He opened my car door, and I turned and hugged him again, ferociously. He made a happy sound and returned it with a firm, scratchy kiss against my neck. “In you go.”

He closed the door and I turned the ignition and lowered the window. “You be careful,” I told him.

“Yes, mom.”

I laughed.

“I will see you soon. And we’ll talk sooner. Goodbye, Lover.” He thumped the door with his hand and stepped back. Throwing it into reverse was one of the most physically difficult things I’d ever done. As I pulled away, he raised his hand, and I memorized the sight of him standing there; I felt sadness, but also awe at this rare thing we’d found, this friendship. And I felt a quietness I didn’t remember ever feeling with anyone. A certainty.

It was just the beginning.