Emo slut

Last night, as I begged Master to cut me, he said, "Are you an emo slut? Or just a slutty emo?" and for a second, I felt like I'd been sprung… exposed… a secret discovered. Of course, that is one of my Master's most captivating talents – he sees right through me, and speaks aloud exactly what makes me shy away.

I would like to pretend I am a poster girl for cheerful, emotionally stable submissives, but I most definitely am not. I am moody and anguished. I am drawn to darkness, and to the 'edge'. I try and hide it, even from myself, but a part of me is fascinated with the idea of my own destruction. I want to feel my blood running over my skin. I want to feel my head float away from lack of oxygen. I want to feel the fear and exhilaration of wondering if I will live through this. Recently when Master released his hold on my throat and allowed me to gasp for air again, I thanked him for my breath… for my life. I remember thinking I would also have wanted to thank him if he had chosen to deny it.

No, I am no rainbows and fairies girl.

But my Master makes me feel light. Pleasing him I feel blessed, comforted, and secure. I feel I can live and be happy. As he said to me more than once, I can do anything.

Today I had the pleasure of being the subject of a media interview – with my Master's permission, to talk publicly on radio about what it is like to be a slave without limits. The portion they played was short and sweet and positive, and I was pleased to hear what they chose to include. But there was one hard question they asked that was edited out of the final… they said, "has he brainwashed you?" That was a question I couldn't answer – not in a public statement. Instead I laughed. The response on my lips, though, was "I don't care." If the type of training my Master performs on me – on my heart, and on my mind – is brainwashing, then so be it! I am just as grateful to him no matter what the name.

.... and it doesn't stop there

I was on my back, my arms spread wide and tied to the bedposts, almost hyperventilating with nerves. Master had just played back his recording of what I'd said to him: "Please, would you shit in my mouth, Sir?" The recording meant even more than the act – he had my plea, my longing, and there was no taking it back. A part of me tried to believe he wouldn't really do it… reaching for denial. But I needed to ask for it, the time was right. I opened my mouth and shut my eyes, and my mind was crowded with thoughts that came down to "YES/NO". Trying not to move. Putting all my will towards keeping my mouth open. Not failing him. Oh god, this is disgusting….

… and next thing I know, there is something in my mouth, and I gasp with shock so hard that for a second I am choking on it. It momentarily occurs to me how utterly absurd it would be to die now, choking on my Master's shit while he shifts position to fuck me, and then it dislodges and I can breathe again, but fuck its still in my mouth, and I can't move my hands and I can't sit up and I can't get it out of there…. And Master tells me to come, and I try, I really try, but for the first time since I've known him I simply can't… it's too shocking…

… But he was so pleased with me. I have never seen him smile so proudly. It was horrible, and I did it, and I would do it again for him. No matter what. Because I have proven it – I have no limits for my Master. He smiled and said to me later, "Now you have reached the point where you are really of use to me," and I felt elated… finally, two years of training and I know I have really become something he truly wants… something he would not throw away.