Bitch

It was a couple of months ago now, that Master’s dog last pissed on the carpet. After kicking him out, he grabbed my hair, and, while fucking me from behind, shoved my head towards the stinking wet patch on the floor. He said “I want to hear you sniff it!” and I tried, but not well enough – it was repulsive. Master ordered me again, “Sniff it! I want to hear you sniffing like a dog!” He was holding me roughly and pushed my face right into it. I was revolted by the smell and wanted to pull away, and I whimpered at first, but had to try to please him. I started to sniff loudly and quickly, a sort of panting through my nose. He held me there and fucked me and rubbed my face harder into the dog’s piss on the floor, forcing me to inhale its scent. It was bitter and concentrated, and with my eyes clenched shut, my hair spilling over my face, and a cock throbbing in my cunt, the animal smell and the sound of myself huffing like a canine took me somewhere primitive inside my mind… I lost self-consciousness and dignity, and for a short while I could truly believe I was not human.

It seems to be the latest direction Master is taking me in my training: to become a bitch. And it suits me well. I have always felt there was something beautifully simple and purifying about animal-training, but the common choices seem somewhat absurd. A Dom I met a long time ago once said he’d like to train me as a cat, but in all honesty I think there is nothing cat-like about me. Puppies are far too innocent and cute, it would feel ridiculous. Yes, I am more like a bitch. Bitches are dirty and unashamed. A bitch is wanton and yet vulnerable. A bitch is there to please, to be used as a hole, and sometimes, to breed. I am definitely a bitch.

The other night it was a nice surprise, when Master showed me what he had me doing. He had placed something over my head and was taking photos while I posed on all fours, not knowing what this was about. Until he showed me the pic on the camera, and I realised what was over my face: a leather dog mask. I was posing as a bitch.

As a bitch, .... I am to spend nights on the floor, and eventually, outside in a pen or kennel. I may one day be replaced in my human position by another woman, one who will slut by my Master’s side and treat me as the animal that I am. Worth less even than Master’s ‘real’ dog. A situation so awful and yet so attractive…

If Master does indeed progress with teaching me in this vein, I know I will be challenged. But also rewarded. I do long to be taught new ways to please him, and if this is what he wants of me, I will learn to be the best bitch I can be. Woof.

All I want for Christmas is a welted arse...

I have come to realise something over time: my Master is not just a Master. He is a manslut. Please note that I mean nothing offensive by that. Merely that he is a man who loves to ‘get around’, and fuck as many people as possible in as many ways as possible. Variety is the spice of his sexual life. And he loves to mix spices – orgies and groupies of any kind are top of his list. As are any new hot bitch or tight arse. That is why he spends so much time browsing for newcomers, and why it matters to him if any one of them doesn’t pan out. Because he wants to fuck them all.

I, too, am a slut. But the point of difference between my priorities and Master’s, is that I am primarily a subslut. The top of my list is whatever will be the roughest, the most painful, the more humiliating, the hardest kink. But obviously, it is not my list that determines what we do.

Occasionally I try to tell Master, that I don’t care about vanilla playmates. I would forgo any number of them for time at home with his most sadistic self. But he doesn’t seem to believe me. And perhaps rightly so… I am, after all, addicted to cock.

When we first met, one thing that made me hesitate most to give myself to him, was worry that I would not get to slut enough to be satisfied. Master made a promise to me, that I would still be used regularly and thoroughly, by many people. It has been my surprise and delight that he has kept his word. But even more surprising is that my frustration has taken the opposite form: being allowed to be a slut has made me miss out on what I want more.

I know I have blogged about this before. But my frustration rises and gets to me over time. I want to be hurt. I want to be flogged and bruised and welted and made to scream and cry. I want the sheer limits of my pain to be pushed and pushed until I fear I won’t survive. And I am forever postponed to avoid offending the sensibilities of new fucks my Master considers essential to his pleasure.

I am trying not to sound bitter, but probably not succeeding. There doesn’t seem much point in being apologetic about it. What I really want to say, when Master avoids marking me because of what others might think, is Fuck them. So what if they don’t feel ok about S&M? We don’t need prudes who want their sex all fluffy and friendly. They are boring and need to get over it. Let’s just stick to the kinky bastards, the ones who understand how to have real fun. Please, Sir….

But like I said, Master wants to fuck them. It doesn’t matter if they are vanilla as essence, he still wants to fuck them. I guess it seems that, when it comes down to it, Master preferences sex over kink, figuring there will always be time for more kink later. Whereas I preference kink any day, and feel that there will always be more sex around when you need it.

Patience, nadi… keep showing patience…

Passer Pipiabat

It’s a strange quirk of fate that the book I am reading lately is a collection of love stories. Why I picked it up, I don’t know – it is not my usual subject of choice. But it turns out to be a selection I feel close to. Each story has a unique pain, a sad passion, and an uncommon truth – just like mine, in a way.

Two years ago when I first began to tell my Master I loved him, I knew it would mean pain. But I had to make that offering. It was part of my surrender. I felt I would earn something. What; I no longer know. Approval? Affection? Tolerance of my flaws? But not for him to love me back. I never thought he would give me that.

There is a woman, I will call her ‘Elle’, who my Master adores. She seems to my limited knowledge to be so many things I am not – independent, successful, strong-willed, and beautiful. And most important, she has my Master’s love.

…I apologise, Sir, for such a bold assumption, but this is how it appears to my eyes.

So, why, if I never thought he would love me and never presumed to wish for it, does it ache so much to see his smile when he speaks of her? It is not the competition – I know very well that she and I can’t fill the same place in my Master’s life. And yet, it is the comparison. The very differences between us that make me safe, are the same things that break my heart. Every distinction between Elle’s life and mine, becomes proof of my inferiority – why else would Sir be so happy with her? She deserves something – something wonderful – that I do not.

And yes, I do want my Master to be happy. Even as it breaks me, that his happiness can be better given by someone else, I do feel glad for it. And I try to make him even happier, when he is pleased by her. I look hard for ways to serve him; I name my jealousy but suppress my sadness; I try with more determination to satisfy him when he fucks me. And sometimes, I feel like I succeed. Sometimes, I earn his praise. But love can’t be earned. It can only be given, and not to me.

A long time ago, when I submitted to Sir J, he fell in love with another submissive. At first I was happy for him, but soon I realised what that meant for me. I may have kept my place, but not his attention. I was soon wanted less often by him, and found myself waiting. When I had my turn, he was distracted and lackluster. He stopped correcting me as if he could no longer be bothered. More and more frustrated, I eventually lashed out and told him what I thought, in an effort to provoke him into putting me back in my place. I was horrified that he didn’t. Instead, he told me I was right, let me go, and focused completely on her.

This is certainly not the same. Master Paul is nothing like Sir J, and Elle is not his sub. My role and feelings for my Master now have little resemblance to what they were back then. But there is one element that remains the same: I was not as desirable as someone else. Even with no love for Sir J and not a great deal of respect for him, it cut me to be second best. And now, with far more of myself at stake, it feels crushing.

How is it possible that someone so far away, who barely knows of my existence at all, has so much power over me? If she were ever to take up residence with my Master, as his partner, she would have me as her slave without effort. Just her existence is enough to remind me of my place, bring me down to nothing, and show me that I am weak and small.

Sometimes it feels unfair. I know I am an incredible slut for him. I know I give him far more than her, and make far greater sacrifices to please him. A part of me feels I deserve “something”… she gets love… how do I get to be something special?

Maybe I don’t…?

Maybe I just get to love him and suffer for it. At least that is something I can do somewhat contentedly. Something I can feel is my blessing. Master may not care enough to give me love, but sometimes he cares to give me pain, and I am grateful. When he hurts me, I feel like I am something to him.

Please, Sir… Please may I have some more pain…?