The Time I- Danced Naked at the Strip Club

Before my Master lived with me, I visited Him on and off. There was a local strip club that we would frequent- I enjoy seeing attractive naked women as much as many men. Deep down, there’s always been a part of me that wishes I could be a stripper- degrading, dehumanizing, humiliating, and damn it pays well. And by “wishes I could be”, I don’t mean to say I couldn’t- I’ve had offers to work in strip clubs before- but there’s still some shred of dignity, or living up to other’s expectations, that is holding me back. Maybe that last flicker of self-respect will eventually be snuffed out. I sure hope so.

One evening in His hometown, we rolled up to the strip club with some of His friends to find that it was packed; standing room only. No one had any intention of standing all night, so I watched like a hawk and jumped on a table the minute a few men got up to leave. That left us with seats and a table to set down our drinks. Perfect. All we needed. The women went up on stage, the vodkas got poured down our throats- not that I  need encouragement to be an exhibitionist whore. I felt the familiar aching in my loins when I’d see some of the more attractive women go by, trying to find customers for private dances. He’d paid for dances before (I’ll eventually write an entry about a very ’special’ dance), and I had a feeling I’d get one again that night, though this is not what this story is about. Suffice it to say that I picked out a fairly voluptuous blonde and He paid for her to grind all over me in private while I got worked up. At the end of the dance, I asked if she was going to go up on stage again. She promised she was.

Reluctantly I returned to the table, missing the feel of her body rubbing up and down against mine, and getting to trail my fingers over her soft skin- her ass, her tits. But alas, there were more women, and more fun, to be had. In this particular strip club it was common practice for the customers to go up onto the stage and lie on their backs with money stuffed in their mouths. The stripper dancing at the time would then come down and straddle over top of the customer in a 69- position, rubbing their bodies against each other, back and forth. The money would be taken from their mouth. In all of our trips, I had not gotten to try such a thing, and I was eager to do it. I had originally planned to go up when “my” stripper, from the lapdance, was on, but as the night drew to a close, I began to worry that she might not go up at all and once again I’d miss out on my chance to lay up on stage.

The clock and drinks ticked by. I became paranoid that the night would end before I’d get my chance. I begged to be allowed to go up, and He agreed. Another woman was on, not as hot as my stripper, but I was willing to make an exception. He took me up to the bar surrounding the stage and helped me climb on. I got on my back, slid some of my money into my mouth, and used my legs to push myself along backwards across the stage. The stripper, who was currently over some other customer, noticed me and motioned that she’d be right over. My heart began fluttering. I wanted her. I wanted her body over me. And more than that- I wanted everyone to see. I wanted the humiliation. When she appeared over me, she seemed delighted with my looks. She ran her approving fingers over me, down the hem of my shirt, and slowly began to raise it up. My heart was pounding at this point, and I felt as though I was high on cocaine or amphetamines or something that was causing my heart to beat about a million times a minute. My slightly drunken stupor seemed to vanish and everything became very clear and focused and narrow. The world was only as big as the stage. My Master, leaning over the bar, watching me intently, seemed about a million miles away. But seeing His face there was probably the only thing tethering me back to reality, keeping me from floating away. The people, the men, all around fueled my feelings, but they seemed to be in a complete other universe from where I was on that stage. My memories of what came next seem almost drowned out by the sound of my heart beating in my ears that night- but I will try to relate it as best I can.

My shirt came off. She lifted it gingerly over my head. I was not wearing a bra (or underwear for that matter) and my breasts plopped out and into view as she managed the tight top over them. She smiled and said “nice tits” and gave a little giggle. Feeling all the warmth for her in the world, I returned her smile. “Thanks.” Then she stood me up. At this point, I think I was aware of what was going to happen, though it all seemed to come into slow motion. I was wearing tight leggings underneath my top, and she tugged at the top of them. “Can I take off your pants?” she asked with a mischievious grin. “Sure.” She slowly slid them down over the round curve of my buttocks. You could almost hear the men in the front row getting their breath caught in their throat. I suppose it’s a bigger thrill for them to see an ordinary girl go up and get stripped down than the overused professionals they are used to seeing.

By this time I was completely naked up on stage. I had become slightly enamored with the stripper and had absolutely zero inhibitions. I would have let her put on a strap-on and fuck me right there on stage. I felt completely like a sexual object, but burning a hole through my shame was the overwhelming feeling of satisfaction and arousal. She had me begin to dance with her- I was so glad to be touching her, touching her in front of them. We danced together, we danced around the pole. The two of us clearly ignited a spark of interest and a bunch of men started putting money in their mouths and climbing up on stage. “Come help” she smiled and motioned at me. Me? Help? I thought in my head, and for a minute had a feeling of paranoia that I wouldn’t know what to do wash over me. However, I realized that acting like a sex object came naturally to me, and more than that- the stripper was warm and friendly and helped instruct me. I repeatedly stole glances at Him- both to check for His approval, and to make sure everything was still real, that I hadn’t floated off into a dream or some other dimension in which I’d grown up to be a stripper.

Then I was over the men. This was probably the most humiliating, and most arousing, part of the experience. I was being used as an object, dehumanizing myself for them, for money (for me, for Him), and I felt disgusting. Men I didn’t know. Strangers. Touching me. Feeling me. I would have felt a knot in my stomach and the twitchings of revulsion if I hadn’t been so goddamn aroused. I vaguely remembered that I was covered with tattoos and had a huge pair of angel wings on my back when the one customer tried to chat with me about it. I was completely in another world but tried to focus on his words, what he was saying. Something about how he liked my ink. He was enamored with me. He pulled off his shirt to show me his own. I plastered a smile onto my face in response. Not because I didn’t feel it, because I wasn’t happy- but I was just so disconnected from this man in particular, that I could hardly remember appropriate human responses.

Soon afterwards the dance ended. I was sad, but climbed down off the stage still in a state of excitement. He was pleased with me. He was proud of me. My heart was soaring. I felt so disgusting and disgraced and alive. But to my delight, the music started again and I almost couldn’t believe my eyes. It was “my” stripper! She hadn’t lied, she was going to dance- the last dance of the night. I felt my stomach rise into my throat with excitement and anticipation. Please please please could I go back up again?- I kept asking Him. Desperately afraid He’d turn me down. But He didn’t. He said yes. And better than that- He seemed happy. I was relieved, and so so glad. I got back up.

Clearly my stripper had seen what happened the last dance, because she wasted no time in getting me undressed on stage. This dance proceeded much the same as the last one. She seemed happy to see me- and, as with the other stripper, when I helped with the customers on stage I always gave her my earnings. It felt wrong to me to pay her back for letting me have such a degrading experience by cutting into her profits. This second experience was just as disgraceful and exhilirating as the first. When I finally had to exit the stage, one of the bouncers came over to me and told me “nice job”. I swelled with pride. I had been standing right next to Him and I love to look good and reflect well on Him. I love to make other men envy Him. More than anything, I felt compelled to please Him.

Often times afterwards- when His heavy, sweating body would be pressed down on top of me, crushing me into the mattress as I cried out in time with His thrusts- He would sneer at me and remind me of how disgusting I had been that night, what a complete sack of shit. How I’d shown off my completely bare cunt to dozens or hundreds of men.  The reality of those words will cut through me, hit me deep because I can’t deny them. Then sometimes, sometimes He’ll threaten to take me back there, talk to the greaseball owner and add me to his stable of coked out, used up, whores. I’ll cum then- imagining my tear-streaked face, handing Him wads of money every night from rubbing up on some old overweight hairy pig, Him laughing at me and my tears- and I’ll hope.

An Encore (as requested by leahl)

On my last entry, leahl asked what would be done as an encore? Since more actually did happen last night, though it was small, I will tell you. All I can say is that the encore is less exciting than the main set. But I still loved it.

A couple hours after the events posted about below, He came over to me on the couch and told me sex was on His mind. I wasn’t particularly in the mood at that time- but I knew that that didn’t matter. Best thing to do would be to GET in the mood. So I did. It usually doesn’t take long. Then for the humiliating part- I’ve read in some sub’s journals stories of them doing this with no degradation, just for convenience, but the context in which we did it was *certainly* extremely humiliating and disgraceful- He ordered me over to the foot of His chair in front of His computer and made me suck His dick while He watched porn.

Now, I know this sounds like childsplay compared to some of the other things I have mentioned- but it’s important to know that I’m probably the most jealous person in the world. So in terms of breaking me, and fucking up my mind and psyche, it’s extremely debilitating to feel as though I’m just being used as a hole, a masturbatory aid, while His real focus and interest lies with whatever porn He is viewing. To me, it’s almost a form of cuckolding. As it was happening, He’d growl out a few cutting remarks and insults while I continued to service Him. The whole time I was soaking wet. Eventually He just looked down at me with disgust and pushed me off of Him with a grunt then began to jack off. I sat and stared for a moment, unsure what to do- then He yelled “open your mouth you stupid bitch!” I jumped forward, tilted my head back, and opened my mouth. He sprayed His cum down my throat, into my mouth, and over my cheeks. I sat there open-mouthed until He commanded me to swallow. He looked at my face- makeup smeared, my own spit and His sweat all over it from being rubbed in His crotch, and drops of cum dripping down one side and the other- and He smirked.

Then I was sent away. My purpose- a hole for Him to use- being fulfilled and finished. Now all I could do was whimper in disgust at my own disgrace and touch my soaking wet cunt.

Getting Put Back in my Place

Tonight at dinner, when the waitress brought us over our drinks, I made the critical error of forgetting to ask permission before drinking (so stupid of me). That combined with a few snide jokes here and there, and just the fact that I’d been out in public and not mistreated for awhile set the stage for a night of abuse. As soon as we arrived home from our evening out- He told me He was going to get a shower.

One of my duties is to always kneel outside the shower while He’s in it and then towel dry Him off as soon as He’s finished. Tonight, I knew the same was expected of me. When He walked out dripping, I slowly and carefully dried off each part of Him- stopping to kiss the parts of His body that I’m obliged to worship; His tongue, His hands, His feet, His cock, and His ass. I was thinking afterwards I’d be allowed to go relax- but I soon learned He had other plans in mind. He kept hitting me in the face while I tried to dry Him, and when we got out He told me to go into the bedroom and strip.

I got there and removed my clothing, a little wary of what was going to happen next. I folded my clothes neatly and set them in a pile, as I always must, and then waited while He put my collar on and attached it to a chain leash. He started beating the shit out of my face while dragging me around the apartment by the chain. He’d move quickly so I’d stumble and fall- then drag me along the floor until I managed to hobble back up. Then He’d smack me until I toppled back over, grab me up by my hair, then hit me back down again. This went on for awhile as He beat and insulted me. He reminded me that I’m just a recepticle, and ordered me to open my mouth so He could spit in it. “Swallow it.” I did. Then He took me into the kitchen and made me make out with the garbage can- because after all, that’s all I am anyway. Might as well make out with one of my own kind.

Back in the living room He started beating the ever-living fuck out of me. I was totally naked and His blows stung hard against my bare skin. He’d smack me as hard as physically possible, then yank my face close with the chain and smack me again. Then He started beating me all over my body- punching and kicking and hitting until I was screaming at the top of my lungs and sobbing and collapsed in a ball on the floor trying to shield my body from His blows. He just kept hitting and hitting me. Then He’d smack my cunt hard and tell me what a stupid slut I was for getting turned on by His abuse. We live in apartments and all the noise from throwing me around and my screaming- I began to worry that the neighbors would interfere. One door He slammed me up against cracked a bit from the force.

After awhile He asked me if I thought I deserved to be punished. What was that then??- is the thought that ran through my mind. If *that* wasn’t punishment, I was afraid to know what was. I said I didn’t know and His face turned from red to violet with rage. I immediately realized my mistake and cried and cried and said that I did deserve it, and that He should punish me. He smirked and left me there on the floor. He went into the kitchen then came back with a glass. I did not know where this was going- but I knew enough to be worried. He seethed insults into my ear and said He should really just leave me for being such a stupid cow and a headstrong bitch that couldn’t keep her mouth shut or learn how to be obedient. Through my tears I tried to choke out pleas that He stay and offered to do anything. He laughed at that and pushed me away. Then He stuck His dick into the glass and filled it with piss- telling me to watch as He did so. I started sobbing again.

After He finished, He set it on the table and offered me a choice. Either He could stay with me in a vanilla relationship, He could leave, or I could drink the glass of piss. “To remind you what you get if you drink it,” He said, “let me give you one more taste.” With that He started brutally mashing my face flat with His fists, over and over. I ended up collapsed and screaming again as He laughed at me. He stepped back and I just sat huddled in a ball shaking and sobbing with pain and terror- too paralyzed to do anything. “Drink it now bitch or I’m gone!” He shouted. Then He grunted with disgust and started to get His stuff to leave. I cried out- no, please- and crawled over to the table and picked up the glass of His warm piss. I begged Him to give me just a little time, just a moment to prepare- He said no, do it now or else He’s gone. So I put the glass to my lips and swallowed it down in gulps as fast as I could. It was bitter and disgusting and I had to stop myself from throwing up by reflex afterward.

He told me I had done just enough to prove I wasn’t totally worthless and that He’d stay- for now. I thought that was the end of it, but no. He forced me to clean off the piss from His cock and suck it and His balls until they were hard enough for Him to fuck me. He pounded into me on the floor, then grabbed me up by my hair and threw me onto the bed in the bedroom. He held me down and fucked me brutally and mercilessly in a number of positions. Every so often He’d stop, grab my collar and pull my face to the edge of the bed, then fuck my mouth like it was a cunt. At one point, He was fucking me from behind and He told me He wanted me to imagine being in a hotel room alone with a 12 year-old boy that was going to fuck me. He forced me to describe to Him in detail, though I whimpered and begged Him not to, what I wanted the young boy to look like and what I wanted to do to him- all while degrading me and calling me a disgusting pedophile. Even here, I find it is too degrading to relate that confession to you readers- but trust that it was humiliating. Eventually He allowed me to cum.

Still however, He did not seem satisfied and told me I “still looked too human”. He then forced me up and dragged me into the bathroom and forced me into the bathtub. I had started whimpering again- afraid of what was going to happen. Standing over me, He smirked and mocked me- and told me since I am not a human I was no longer allowed to speak or use human words. Then He had me squat down, and ordered me to piss myself there in the tub- while I licked His ass. Fuck. He turned around and forced my face into His ass. I stuck my tongue out and searched for His hole, then began to lick and suck at it eagerly- knowing anything less than full enthusiasm could result in more beating and punishment. It took me a minute or so to be able to let out a stream of piss, but I eventually did and felt the warm liquid running down my legs and all over my feet as I sat in it, licking away at Him. He jacked off while I did this, then turned around at the last moment and came all over my face. I wanted to cry out- but I wasn’t allowed to speak so all I could do was sit there in my own piss and His cum. He left me there and told me to sit and think about what I had done. I had already begged forgiveness hundreds of times for those infractions, but a tear still ran down my cheek as I sat there- feeling very guilty indeed for forgetting my place.

Eventually I was allowed to turn the shower on and wash off. He asked me how I felt afterwards. How did I feel?

Grateful.

An Abuser’s Guide

While surfing the web for images of beaten women for me to masturbate to, I ran into a wheel diagram that law enforcement uses to educate women about the pattern of domestic violence and abuse. Reading through it- I decided to share it with my Master because I found that almost all the tactics employed by these men were the types of things He did as well to control me.

Here’s the chart:

 

He doesn’t threaten to kill Himself, and He wouldn’t injure any animals (only me)- so those parts aren’t as applicable. But most of the other parts of the graph are a relatively useful guide on how to break a woman down and ruin her self-esteem and turn her into a dependent, self-loathing, worthless piece of shit cunt.

God I love it.

The Time I- Got Pissed On for the First Time

Before my Master moved in with me, He lived several hours away and we only saw each other in person every once in awhile. Always eager to experience His abuse first-hand, I drove up to see Him for a week- the whole drive reminding myself what a stupid fucking cunt I was to be driving so far just to get the shit beaten out of me and used. What I did not know during the drive, however, was that I was going to have my first experience with Him using me as a toilet.

One afternoon at His place, in the living room, He became rather aggressive and started beating and abusing me. He drove His fists into my back and sides and face again and again until I collapsed onto the ground. I began whimpering and moaning from the pain, but didn’t dare beg for mercy out of fear of His rage. He let up for a bit and smirked at me as I lay quivering on the floor, trying to shield my body and terrified of what was to come next.

As He often did, He jacked off all over my face and mouth and body, using me as a garbage pail. He simply stood over my limp body and spewed His cum all over my naked form. Throughout the ordeal I had been touching myself and was dying to be allowed an orgasm. Suddenly, He grabbed me up by my collar and began spitting in my face. Globs of it hit me and ran down my face. Then He pulled me to my feet and asked me how badly I wanted to cum. IMMEDIATELY I knew that I was in trouble, and that it was going to have something to do with His piss. In our conversations about ruining me and turning me more and more into a piece of shit- He had told me that in order to break me He thought it imperative that I be a recepticle not only for cum, but other bodily fluids as well- including piss.

I began to whimper, knowing that I wanted to cum, and that I was going to do whatever He told me to. He dragged me down the hall and into the bathroom. I was petrified, and almost crying at this point. When He ordered me into the bathtub, my fears were confirmed- He was going to piss on me, and there was nothing I could do. I felt overwhelmed with anxiety and even whimpered out a few feeble, almost inaudible, “please no”s. But it was no use. His eyes were burning into me and I could see His determination to ruin me. And for my part, I wanted to be ruined. Wanted it more than anything, but was so scared to do it myself. He spewed out abused at me while I sat there shaking and covered with spit and cum- until He finally did it. He aimed straight at my face and let the warm piss spray out all over me. It ran all over my face, in my hair, and covered my body. I wanted to cry, but couldn’t open my eyes or mouth without getting the piss inside me. My fingers worked feverishly as I felt my dignity flowing down the drain with His piss in the bathtub. He ordered me to cum and the release was more than welcome. Waves of intense pleasure rolled over me as I floundered in the tub, writhing to stretch it out as long as possible. The feeling subsided but I still heard His words flinging at me like daggers, “you’re so disgusting, no one is ever going to love you now, look at you, you’re filthy”. Finally, complete and utter humiliation steamrolled over me. All of my arousal had been washed away and I sat there naked and dripping and covered with piss and spit and cum and felt like the most worthless human alive. For the first time in my descent up to that point, I outright sobbed. I wept for the dignity I had thrown away and the knowledge of how much farther into disgrace I knew I was going to sink. Getting pissed on would clearly only be a prelude to drinking piss, and so on and so on. Ruination by degrees as I become a broken beaten bitch. The idea thrilled me, and despite my tears at that moment, it wouldn’t be long before I was begging for depravity again.

Slap Happy

Today I wanted to write about one of my favorite subjects- getting smacked in the face out of nowhere. Nothing says “you’re not worth shit” like a good open handed smack across the face cutting you off mid-sentence. I’ve come to accept such treatment as a part of my daily life (and I’m glad).

This evening we decided to go to the store to pick up some groceries. I was looking at nutrition info on the back of a cereal box, trying to calculate calories for the day and whatnot (I’m on a forced diet). As I was thinking out loud I made some mistake of calculation by accident and He began to chuckle at me. “It’s cute watching you try to think, heh.” He smirked at me. I stuttered a bit, stung by the insult. Then He swiftly brought His hand up and slapped me right across the face as I looked at Him agape. A man further down the isle turned back to see what the noise had been. My cheeks burned with shame and I quickly averted my glance to the ground. When the isle was empty I finally got the courage to look back up in His eyes and He asked me to pick the cereal- I was still speechless. He smirked again and told me to take my time trying to figure out how to “think”. My cunt was wet the rest of the trip.

Later we were watching a movie with some action sequences. I asked Him if He would protect me in a similar situation as we were viewing on the screen. I made some lighthearted jest such as “what about Your manly instincts to protect me? How can I feel safe?” I should have known that was a mistake. He glared at me with pure hostility and contempt. I gulped. There was a moment of silence- then His hand came flying across my face as He bashed it against my cheek, and eyes, and jaw again and again. As He was smashing my face He taunted- “There. Do you feel safe now? Huh? Huh??” I whimpered and couldn’t answer- but I would have loved to slip my hand between my thighs at that moment. God I’m a bit fucked in the head.

The Time I- Got Spanked

Since I started this journal after having already begun my path down the road of humiliation, I’ve decided to throw in brief interludes from my everyday activities to tell a story about something interesting that I’ve already done in re: degradation and BDSM. I’ll title these entries “The Time I- _____” to differentiate between them and my current activities.

This is just an example of that type of entry, so I am not going to include much of a story. This happened one day that I had been sick and felt I had not been dutiful enough in serving Him and degrading myself- so I asked Him to spank me harshly to put me in my place. He was all too glad to show me what a piece of shit I am. My ass came out like this:

Bloggers Beware

So maybe giving Him the link to the blog may not have been the best of ideas.

After He read the last entry, He apparently decided He wasn’t done with me for the night. (Maybe trying to fulfill those promises of ruination?) I won’t go into a ton of detail this time- but it’s still progress toward my dehumanization.

• He began beating the fuck out of my face- slapping it back and forth between His hands. I actually put my hand up at one point to protect my face- which I NEVER do (for reasons mentioned earlier about not resisting)- because I could feel my eyes being hit. (Though I am still praying for facial bruises.)
• He forced me to my knees eventually and held open my mouth to use it as a cunt. Holding onto my hair and fucking my face. I gagged repeatedly and slobbered uncontrollably down my face and shirt and all over His cock.
• My face was held down pressed against the underside of His crotch- cutting off my air until I sucked and licked His balls and stole breaths in between.
• Eventually I begged to lick His ass. Degrading. Disgusting. I loved it.
• Dragged back onto the bed and had my face hung over the side to make it easier for Him to fuck my throat. He’d pause and grab me by the hair and spit down onto my face repeatedly during this.
• After much beating and bruising and choking and spitting into my face- He pulled out of my mouth and came all over my face. He ordered me to look at myself in the mirror- but the cum and spit mixture stuck my eyelids together and made it hard for me to see.

I was not allowed to get off. I was not paid attention to sexually. I was just used. It was wonderful. I’ve asked Him not to read my entries anymore- but maybe I should rethink that request?

A Sample of a Typical Evening

Tonight’s events were what has become commonplace in my household. Beating and degradation.

We were cuddled on the couch, watching a movie- two lovebirds, right? The movie ends. His hand in my hair. Around my throat. Choking me. Slapping me in the face. Kiddie stuff nowadays, I suppose. He ramps it up a bit.

I’m dragged into the kitchen by my hair and ordered to take a position up against the fridge that is similar to what a person looks like when being searched by the cops. My clothes are torn off. He beats and chokes and smacks me repeatedly- throwing me up against the fridge, the door, the wall. Once He has me naked He pushes me up against the wall and hoists me into the air by my throat. I choke and gurgle and my toes frantically try to reach the linoleum floor. Throughout this I’m subjected to a constant stream of venomous verbal abuse that He spews into my ear. A lot of my beatings occur in the kitchen because, well where else does a woman belong?

After numerous forceful blows to my face I feel myself slipping. Slipping out of the realm of dignified woman and into the world of a beaten bitch. I’m again dragged by my hair down the hall and into the bedroom. I know I will be beaten and fucked here. I do not say rape- because that is such a loaded word- but there is no question that if I offered up resistance to any of His actions that I would just be beaten until I complied. So when He orders me to essentially bow at His feet, I do so. When He hits and hurts me, I do not resist. When He orders me into another position, I move as fast as possible to please Him and to avoid further injury. Eventually I’m smacked around and thrown down naked onto the bed where He holds me down and begins fucking me.

He fucks me hard and fast. My cunt has become tender over the past few days and weeks from incessant pounding and abuse. But I love it. I feel alive as He seethes torturous and insulting remarks into my ear. I beg Him for disgrace. He pounds my face like a piece of veal He’s trying to tenderize over and over. My head starts lolling off the side of the bed as I’m tossed around and used like a rag doll. His face is full of rage as He tells me how worthless I am and how little He cares for me. He could give a shit less about my feelings and is disgusted by me. He’s already told me numerous times before what a fat whore I am and how I make Him sick. I beg Him not to leave me. I need Him. I beg Him to ruin me- to make me get gangraped, to fuck dogs, to do anything and everything. He promises He will. I believe Him. I cum- only after He lets me of course.

I’m a bit shocked when He just spits in my face and gets up and puts His pants back on. I ask Him what He is doing. He tells me He’s done with me and is leaving (the room). I sit there for a moment in stunned silence and then begin touching myself and crying. He leaves the room. I’m on the edge of orgasm again- so grateful for feeling like He couldn’t care less about me and has no respect for me whatsoever. I crawl out of the room and beg at His feet to be allowed to cum. He sneers at me and chuckles to Himself. Perhaps He really should just leave. God no- I beg again. I need Him, I’ve got no self-respect and I’m too much of a stupid fucking twat to run my life without a Man doing it for me. He says He’ll consider staying if I prove how pathetic I am. I begin mewling and degrading myself. Admitting my own uselessness. My depraved desires. The fact that really I’m just a whore with no dignity. I’d engage in any atrocious and disgusting actions if only it would please Him. He allows me to cum again. God I’m grateful.

Afterwards He allows me to hold onto His leg for a few moments and comforts me a bit. It’s important to mix affection with the abuse, so that it becomes impossible to tell the two apart. I ask Him again if He’ll ruin me. I need it. More than anything. He promises He will.

It Didn’t Take Long

As I have started living with the Man I refer to as my Master- I’ve begun to feel the effects of His regular presence wearing me down. I have to accept that at any moment I may be beaten or used or degraded. It didn’t take long for me to develop an uncontrollable automatic flinch when He moves a certain way or gives me a certain look. Repeated harsh smacks to the face have begun to make me timid around Him. And it’s not always just when I’ve done something “bad” or disrespectful. Sometimes it’s just for no reason at all.

A few moments ago, as I sat here innocently surfing the web- having already done all my chores- He walked over to me and started to kiss me. I should have immediately become wary, but I was slow to catch on. His affection or desire is almost always linked with violence and abuse. Soon He began smacking me in the face, out of nowhere, and verbally assaulting me. I had not been mentally prepared for the onslaught- but that is the point. The more things happen unexpectedly, the more I become unhinged, cowed, broken. Eventually He made me beg Him to beat me in the face. I hadn’t been prepared- my first pleas were not considered suitable. I begged harder- and by the time His hands were knocking my slump unresisting body down into the couch, I actually almost wanted it.