Digging a hole, is that the way you treat me-

“…digging a hole, just tie me up and beat me”

As I mentioned, things have been slow because of the Man’s illnesses. I’ve mainly been donning the role of domestic servant and caretaker as I go about doing the chores and serving Him each day. But as His strength returns, so does His viciousness and cruelty. And when that happens, sometimes I get hit with the reminder of my place like a load of bricks. And although nothing particularly extreme happened, nothing particularly out of the ordinary- last night was one of those times.

We laid entwined on the couch in the living room watching The Sopranos on DVD. A picture of young domestic bliss, we spent the time cuddling and giggling. The episode ended and the credits began playing on the dark screen over the closing music. Suddenly, His eyes darkened and He turned to me. He pulled me tightly to Him in what any onlooker would mistake for a lover’s embrace. Even my own mind seemed to betray me, and I found it carelessly allowing myself to get mixed up in feelings of love and passion and arousal. Visions of Him picking me up and laying me down gently on the mattress on the bedroom and making love to me floated into my mind. Perhaps He sensed this in my response, perhaps not. Either way, I was quickly brought out of my delusions when a hard SMACK! hit me square across the face.

My jaw dropped open and a tear formed at the corner of my eye. Yet, simultaneously, I felt a gush of wetness between my thighs. His hand flew out and grabbed onto my neck. He squeezed and lifted me up by my throat then threw me onto my back on the couch. I tried to gurgle out a few protestations, but all I managed was to choke on some of my own spit. Eventually He released me as His hands went to work tearing off my pants. “God, you’re a fucking slut,” He said with some surprise as He felt my wetness drip across the fingers of the hand He’d used to cup over my cunt. He held me that way for a few minutes to reinforce His complete ownership over that part of my body. I still find that simple action to be such a violation, even after all this time. Nothing like a man just randomly grabbing onto your naked cunt to show you who owns you.

When He’d managed to get my pants off, He held Himself over top of me. He paused for a moment, contemplating my predicament- pinned under His weight- then unleashed a barrage of beating onto my unprotected face. He slapped my face, hard, back and forth. My head lulled from one side to the other. I tried to relax my facial muscles and jaw so that a forceful hit didn’t cause me to accidentally cut open my lip or clamp down on my tongue. Spit began to run down one side of my face and my cheeks reddened. The stinging turned into a throb under the constant abuse. My eyes began to ache. Finally, His chest heaving and face red with the exertion, He stopped. “Stupid cow,” He grunted, “fuck, I don’t give a fuck about you.”

He then grabbed me by the ankles and smashed them down on top of my shoulders so that I was bent in half like a pretzel. There I laid, on my back, between the couch and His body, with my legs over my head and folded in two. In that position, He entered me. I felt Him push forward with a hard thrust and a grunt. “Ow fuck!” I gasped with the pain. “Shut up you fucking cunt!!” He slapped me. “Keep your stupid fucking fat hole of a mouth shut!” I quickly bit my tongue and surpressed a sob. The verbal abuse continued while He kept forcing Himself into me over and over- crushing me down again and again into the divet in the couch. After a few moments, it really started to hit me. Something about the scene- the TV still blaring in the background, my pets wandering around the living room, my suffocating position on the couch crushed underneath Him, and the suddenness in which it all happened- made the whole experience begin to seem surreal. I felt my mind seem to drift outside myself and, from the outside, look in on my body as really being the object that He told me it was. “Of course He’s using me like this,” my outside-self began thinking, “I mean, my body’s really only good for being used as a hole anyway.” And in that moment those thoughts seemed very logical, and true, and I became convinced that the Man pumping on top of me did not see me as a human being. And then I came.

A few more minutes went by, and He finally released my body from underneath Him. I laid, collapsed, on the couch- trying to catch my breath. He stood next to me and grabbed my right arm and began twisting it until I thought it was going to pop right out of its socket. “Ow, ow, ow, ow,” I whimpered pathetically. “Get that fucking hole on your face open you piece of shit, I’m going to dump my load down into the fat garbage sack of a stomach.” I quickly complied and leaned my head over the side of the couch and opened my mouth. After a few quick strokes on His cock, He bent over my face and shot His cum towards it. Streams of it coated my face and hair, but I managed to get most into my mouth. I swallowed and thanked Him, knowing that to do otherwise would be to risk further abuse. “God you’re a mess. You look like such a fucked-out whore.” He said with audible disgust- then He spit on my face and walked away.

God, it’s good to have Him back.

All Apologies

Remember when I said my Master had tonsilitis? Well apparently He had strep AND mono, and had to be admitted to the hospital. So I had to do a lot more caretaking than I originally thought- which led to my unfortunate absence from posting. He’s doing much better now- and though we’ve been careful about fluid exchange (He doesn’t want to damage His property in that way, He claims), hopefully the time for that will end soon and I can be abused as usual.

The Time I- Met Him in Person the First Time

“…meet me in the hotel room, naked.”

“What, Sir?” I asked, not sure that I had just heard Him correctly.

“I said- I want you to meet me in the hotel room, naked. I want you kneeling in the prone position totally undressed when I walk into the room.”

“But Sir, I-”

“No buts, you fucking twat. We do this my way. And my way means the first time you set eyes on me you’re going to be on the ground, no clothes on, mewling at my fucking feet. I want to dispel any pretense of you having dignity right from the start, bitch.”

“Yes, Sir.”

 

That’s how I ended up, on a dark Friday night, trudging through the rain up to the door of a local luxury hotel. I entered in through the revolving door and dragged myself and my bags from the dark, wet night into the warm glittering glow of the oversized lobby. He had texted me the room number ahead of time, so I ignored the front desk and went straight to the elevators. I took a deep breath and stepped on- pushing the button that would transport me to His floor.

When I stepped off the elevator, I took one look down the hallway and experienced an odd sense of vertigo. Suddenly I was dizzy. I couldn’t tell top from bottom and the hallway seemed like it might stretch on forever. I found that I was having increasing difficulty keeping my composure and wits about me. I’d talked to this Man for months. Seen Him, chatted with Him, followed His every command. Let Him hurt and humiliate me in ways no other man had, or had even thought of. Now I was walking up to the door of a strange hotel room and placing a trembling hand on the doorknob, ready to turn it, at His insistence. The door had been left open a crack for me, both so that I’d know I had the right room and so that I could get in without a key. I turned the handle.

He’d reserved a suite, so that the bedroom and bathroom were off in another area- and when I opened the door at last I was confronted with a long hallway that led down to a (somewhat) empty room. I remembered Him mentioning that He would clear it out to make room for what He was going to ‘do’ to me. I shivered. My instructions had been clear, however, and I was not about to dare to disobey Him. I quickly walked down the padded hallway and set my things down on the floor inside the room. I stripped down out of my clothing and folded it neatly beside me. By this time, my heart was pounding almost out of my chest- and my fingers kept fumbling over buttons and zippers as I struggled out of my clothes. After what seemed like an eternity, I was naked and scrambled to get into position. The fear that I was taking too long, that He was going to walk in before I’d fulfilled His instructions, drove me to move as fast as I was able. I got down on my knees, bowed on the floor, and put my arms out at my sides at 90 degree angles, with my ass raised in the air.

This is a photo from that night, in that hotel room, in that position-

 

 

(to be continued…)

We interrupt your regularly scheduled program to bring you a message from our sponsor

I apologize for the lack of posting recently. The problem is my Master has been sick with tonsilitis- and as the “good little housewife”, I must of course attend to His every need. To make up for the lack of beating, I’m writing a long entry about the first night I met Him in person. However, I only have time to work on it when I’m not catering to His wishes.  Hopefully though (cross your fingers), I will be able to post it up soon, and get back to the program- beatings and disgrace. I can’t wait- can you?

A mark, a mission, (a brand, a scar?)

I haven’t been able to get time to update recently- but I promise I will deliver soon. For the time being, I just wanted to take time to record the fact that yesterday I woke up with my first honest-to-goodness bruise on my face.

One other time, there had been a small bruise under my eye after He had beaten me. What strikes me as funny is that these bruises never come from the harsh and protracted beatings you’d think would cause them. No, just a regular old bit of slap and punch across my oh-so-delicate face left me with this.

This. A bruise about 3 inches tall and 1 1/2 inches wide. On my left cheekbone. He is right-handed and usually the left side of my face takes most of the beating. It’s black and blue and green all over. At first, convinced it was just the play of the bathroom mirror, I poked at it. And winced. Yep- a bruise all right.

Later He’d shove my face into that same mirror and make me ashamed to be with a man that would mark my body- my face- that way. But for this moment, I just stared at my face and at that mark- that mark that said so much- and smiled.

6:00

His face blocked the light filtering in through the blinds, keeping His expression covered in shadow- though there was still no mistaking the gleam in His eyes. I’d been grouchy and pouting and now I could see He was sick of my whining and wanted nothing to do with it. I felt the first stirrings of fear in my gut. Silently, He stood and walked across the room into the kitchen. I heard some rattling and commotion- then He walked back and stuck a small yellow post-it note face up on the mahogany colored coffee table in front of me. Green Sharpie had been used to write the simple message staring me in the face- “6:00″ I looked up at the clock- it was 5:45.

For a minute or so, I was unsure what to say or do. Six o’clock? What did that mean? Surely something bad. Surely something unpleasant. I meekly managed to get out the words, “do You want me to do something, Sir?” He glared back at me, and half of His lip curled up into an ugly grin. “No,” He pointed a finger in my face until the tip of it was pushing hard against my cheekbone, “you don’t have to do *anything*.” I gulped. “Well may I get up, Sir?” He acquiesced. For my part, I wanted to get as many chores done, and give Him as little reason to be angered with me, as possible. I rushed and cleaned the kitchen, made the bed, and did the dishes.

When I returned to the living room, and the ominous note, it was 5:55. He was pacing the room and clearly furious. The fear in my gut began to overwhelm me. I felt my stomach flip-flop and bile rise in my throat. No matter what, 6:00 was approaching, and whatever was going to happen, would happen. The options ran through my head- maybe He was going to apologize for upsetting me. Maybe He was just going to threaten me. Maybe He was going to lecture me. But a voice, even when I tried to ignore it, screamed at me loudly- “No, He’s going to beat you, you dumb bitch. And He’s going to beat you hard.” The minutes kept ticking by.

6:00

He lunges at me. I’d been curled up in a corner on the couch, fearing what was coming, and had my arms over my head. He soon was on top of me, over me, everywhere. His fist rained down hard on my head, legs and back. While ducking from one blow, I’d expose my face and get popped in the jaw. While scrambling to change position, I’d get a hit in the kidney. There was nothing I could do to calm His force and ferocity. He dragged me down to the ground and continued the assault. Hands, elbows, fists, feet. He used whatever body parts He could to harm me. I’d gasp and cry out as He’d repeatedly kick the wind out of me. Despite the fact that I’d been trained not to protect my face from His hits- I cowered and curled up into a ball- trying to block as many blows to the head as possible. He quickly became annoyed at this behavior and straddled me- using one hand to hold my arms down and the other to strike me across the face, hard, repeatedly. I screamed and wailed in pain. This new aggravation was solved by Him choking the air out of me until my face swelled and my vigorous nods in reply to His inquiries as to whether I’d behave convinced Him to stop.

The beating continued in the kitchen. Slammed up against the refridgerator. Head bashed repeatedly against the wooden door. Thrown and kicked onto the ground. But worst- worst by far- being called a “bad girl”. My dependence upon such an abusive Man had grown to the extent that a single word from His mouth could make or break me. I felt my reaction to His words, and I felt pathetic. What a mewling and desperate woman I felt I had become- willing to do anything to please the Man that treats her like shit. God, I felt disgusted. And wet. And He noticed.

He pulled me by my shirt collar into the bedroom- then forced me to stand straight up, facing Him, with my hands against my sides. “Please no,” I mouthed, knowing what was coming. “Fuck you, bitch” He spat at me in reply- than smacked me as hard as He could across my unprotected face. I easily lost my balance and toppled backwards onto the mattress. Soon, He was on top of me- tearing my clothes off in a rage and punching and hitting me. I was reduced to crying and begging- but He’d just stick His hand up my cunt and point out how wet I was, and how much of a useless sack of shit I was. I couldn’t deny it, so I laid back and accepted it. Tears ran down my cheeks as He got on top of me and pounded into me. “Next time you act like such a fucking cunt I’m going to beat you unconscious then rape a baby into you and leave you, you bitch- how do you like that?” Some part of me, god help me, did like it. Wanted it. Wanted to beg Him to do it. But at the moment all I could do was cry because I knew I had displeased Him.

Eventually He finished using me like a rag doll, then fucked my throat and dumped His load into my stomach. When I wasn’t simply docile or crying, I was begging desperately for forgiveness. Afterwards, I clung to His leg, sobbing. “Please forgive me, please tell me I’m not bad anymore, please- please tell me I’m not bad anymore.” What a pathetic sight. He eventually did forgive me, and I again felt disgust at the wave of gratitude that enveloped me. Later He stood over me with His boot on my face, crushing my skull, and said, “It’s alright, stupid. I know a dumb cunt like you can’t help it, but luckily you have me to keep you in line. Just don’t make me break open this pretty face of yours, you twat.”

Let’s hope I’ve learned my lesson.