A good toilet

Two years ago, I was in a hotel room, exhausted and recovering from the first of many gangbangs my new Master would have me available for. He dismissed me to shower while he showed out the last of the guests, then entered the bathroom where I stood - wet, exposed and trembling. He ordered me to sit down and open my legs, and I did as he asked with trepidation. He said "spread your lips" and I held them - swollen, overused, and open - and I knew. I briefly shut my eyes, then looked down to watch the first stream of his piss touch my skin, spraying my cunt. He emptied his cock onto me and I waited, accepting it, until he appeared satisfied, and told me to resume my washing. That was my first golden shower.

Last night, I laid down on Master's floor, and positioned a large funnel in my mouth. When he urinated into it, I didn't choke, and I didn't gag, I just swallowed. I concentrated on keeping the pace it went down my throat fast enough so it wouldn't spill, and I didn't stop until I sucked nothing but air through the tube. Afterwards, he told me he was pleased, that I had become a good toilet, and I felt proud.

When he asked how it felt, I delved deep and answered that it felt dirty, humiliating, and submissive - and that I felt happy to have pleased him. But what surprised me that I couldn't put into words was that I felt so little at all. That is, I felt a little of all those things, but mostly there was a sense of normality about the whole experience. Of course I would swallow his piss. Of course I would be his toilet. Those thoughts came well before any sense of it being degrading in any way at all. I remember a similar feeling two years ago: testing myself in my mind, replaying the scene, thinking: he PISSED on me... waiting for a reaction, and hardly finding one at all.

Yes, of course I will drink piss from my Master. If it pleases him, it is right. I thanked him last night for training me in this way - his content little piss slut. And of course, I know it doesn't stop there....

"Yes please, Sir."

"Would you like to be whipped until you bleed?"
"Yes please, Sir."
"Would you like me to shit on you?"
"Yes please, Sir."
"Shall I fill your cunt with hot melted wax?"
"Yes please, Sir."
"Should I dump you naked in a group of drunks to be raped?"
"Yes please, Sir."

It's a powerful experience, to say those words: yes, please - to something a big part of me finds unthinkable. But I can't answer any other way, even if I try. Recently Sir asked me something I felt so horrified by that I did say "No, thank you Sir." .... but then I paused.... and retracted it with a "yes, please". When he asked why the quick change of heart, I answered truthfully - that I'd heard the no come out of my mouth, and felt disappointed. I couldn't stand to hear myself limit my desire. The high that comes with saying "yes" to anything at all, is enough to make me give up all my defenses.

For a long time, it has been a relief to be permitted no limits - to know my Master may do what he likes no matter what I say. It absolves me of choice, and thus responsibility. But it seems that is no longer enough. It seems that not only do I want to give up my control over what happens, and not just embrace and accept anything he decides... but I want to ask for anything he might consider entertaining, or that might prove my complete submission to him.

Sometimes I wish he didn't ask me so often. I want to be led, taken, and forced without even the opportunity to say no. But Master asks, even though his choices have little to do with my answer. I guess as much as he enjoys the thrill of force just as I do, my Master wants to know what I'm feeling - and he wants not just a slave, but a willing one. Or maybe he just finds it entertaining to hear me ask for it. *smiles*

Last night was a case in point. He was taking a jar of Tiger Balm, and smearing the contents onto my nipples, over my pussy, and shoving it inside my cunt and arse. Each time he asked if I wanted more, I hesitated, and asked myself, could I really stand that burning sensation engulfing me, to intensify again? And then I would realise that, pain aside, I couldn't stand the thought of saying no. Each time I momentarily feared the knowledge that once the balm was added, there was no escaping it - and then that was exactly what I loved the most once it was there. I was under him, swinging like a pendulum from yes to no...
.... and there have been far worse things...

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It has been a disappointingly long time since I've blogged. I know Master is unhappy about that, and I am grateful to him for allowing my block to take its course. There are many reasons, and "worse things" is one of them... as the exploration of the depths of my submission to him becomes more extreme, there are more and more things I just can't write about. And that makes me feel despondent. When I started this blog I felt inspired by the freedom it brought - to express what was in my mind freely and openly, without constraint. As much as I longed to share it, I also appreciated Master's choice to limit the blog's audience - it allowed me to be much more honest to bare all without fear. And now the things I want to write most - the powerful, most meaningful things - I must censor. It is a struggle to write at all when no matter what goes down on the page, I really want to say something else.... and all I end up with is a bunch of fragments.

There are other reasons, too, but I don't want this to degenerate to a list of excuses. I still don't know how to overcome it. All I can say is that, my lack of words has certainly not been caused by a lack of inspiration.

Thank you, Sir.