some nothing

I was driving recently past a fast food chain and a memory hit me - something I hadn't thought about almost since it happened three years ago. It was the night Master and I were attending our first BDSM party as a pair. I had limited "scene" experience, and it felt like an honour to accompany him as his own for the first time - so naturally I was nervous. I wanted to be seen with him, and to make him proud. But as we were getting ready to leave, something happened... a conflict with someone important to him. He spoke to me gently and suggested I go alone, and he would join me at the party later... after he sorted the issue out.

I didn't want to go alone. I had looked forward to arriving with him... as his. To be without him felt shameful, and lonely. I wanted to wait for him... but he said no.

I am ashamed to say it, but on that night out, I did not have faith in my Master's word. Driving to the party, I was convinced he would not come at all. I thought I would wait for him there all night, looking at my watch, trying to excuse him to the other guests, to convince them that, no, I hadn't really been abandoned. Until finally I would leave, still alone. Thinking this, I pulled over at the fast food place and sat in the car park for a long time, trying not to cry. Because, in my mind, what this meant was clear: I was not important. He did not care about me. I meant nothing. And I felt sure I would be forgotten that night.

But I wasn’t forgotten. He did turn up at the party, to my relief and surprise.

Now, three years later, I still belong to him. Despite my failings, my weakness, my uncertainty. Despite what can only be described as my crisis. On this one issue, I still find it difficult to have faith in my Master’s word: I am something to him.

Why is it so hard for me to accept that I could matter? Being nothing hurts, but it feels real, and easy to slip into. Being something, that feels so warm… and safe… and frightening. It feels vulnerable, which is somehow worse than pain. The more I mean anything to him, the more I need him, until I don’t know where I am in this anymore. My sense of place becomes soft, until I need his cruelty, desperately, to bring me back. His derision makes the world solid again.

Too much care and I can’t stand it. Too much malice and I can’t stand myself. Can I find a space in the middle, where I can be both his something and his nothing?

I can’t tell what is possible anymore, and I’m not sure I even want to think anymore. My head can’t cope with the questions it’s trying to ask. It tries, and then…… Crisis. Escape.

But escape is not permissible. Master will not allow it. He will keep me for as long as he desires. And just that, helps me to feel safe again. I don’t need the answers, and I don’t need to cope with this alone. I can let go – I have no choice. The answer will be found, or it won’t – all I have to do is obey him, letting my own will go. Easy to do, when I don’t know where it lies anyway.

And here, in his firm grip, without choice, is where I find that balance: I am important enough that he will keep me; and I am insignificant enough that he will use force if he must. This feels peaceful. This feels like love.

Intruded

I was dozing, just barely asleep last night, peaceful and relaxed... and something woke me. The next instant, my head was covered by something, and pushed face down into the pillow. I don't remember the blankets being pulled away, but they must have been, because next I knew, there was someone on top of me, breathing hard, snarling into my ear. I felt fingers probe my cunt roughly, then a belt against my arse, pushed hard against me, and I knew what he was trying to do...

Strangely, I made a noise, but it didn't occur to me to try and yell out. I tried to push up, but was held down hard, and I quickly stopped, thinking I might be suffocated. But for the most part, I did not resist. I was tense and fearful of what was happening. I thought of asking, "Sir?" but dared not, and besides, I felt sure it wasn't. It was not his smell. And that sound...

... how long would he continue for? Would I just be used, or would I be harmed? Was I going to die?

Even then, somehow, I did not think to fight... my brain said to try, but my instinct was simply to submit.

Just as quick as it had started, suddenly he stopped and stood up. My head was uncovered but I was still face down. I tensed slightly, and felt wetness on the sheets. Had I pissed myself? No, it was cum. I hesitated, unsure... then quickly turned to look - and there was Master's face, smiling at me in the dark.

It was him - holding an old jacket with an unfamiliar smell. And looking pleased. Oh my god. He really had me believing I was being raped.

And all I could think was.... I want that to happen again.

Assrape

And my ass wasn't left alone to recover the next night, either.

Master's guest had a thick cock. A very thick cock. And he was not to be dissuaded from where he wanted to fuck me with it. I was still sore and could barely handle the feeling of his fingers probing my ass. When he finally managed to force his cock into it, I screamed. And screamed. And it wasn't over fast.

I said to another sub recently, that I hoped to learn to accept heavy use of my asshole more easily. But it doesn't matter, if I do or I don't. Master is showing me, it will be used anyway. It is his.

Filthier than any toilet, and wetter too

Funny how first times are always a surprise. I always knew my first enema would be a big humiliation. I hadn't expected that it would be made of pure hot piss.

Master blindfolded me first, then told me to lie face down. I could feel a towel underneath me, and started to feel anxious - obviously whatever he was doing, it was going to be messy. He pulled my cheeks apart, and I thought how nice it is to feel unashamed while someone looks straight into your ass. Then he began to shove something into it, and the feeling changed. It was big, and unlubed except for the wetness he collected from my cunt. I moaned and tried to fight the urge to tense up - if he wanted it in there, it was going in, and I knew it.

He pulled it out and said, "a good effort." A relief to hear.

The second time it went in, it was lubed, but still a struggle. I realised it was a big plug... and remembered when he returned from his last trip interstate. He had done some shopping. There was one item he'd bought that still had not been used. A large black plug, with a tube attached... and at the other end, a funnel...

As he fucked my ass with it, he asked me if I knew what was coming, and I told him my guess. He told me to reach back and hold the plug in place so it wouldn't move, and I heard him stand and remove his jeans....

The sensation was subtle, so that I wasn't even sure it was real at first. It felt as though the rubber toy inside my ass was somehow swelling.... but in a very gentle way.... lazily.... it was only when he let a few warm drops flick onto my back that I was sure it wasn't just my imagination... yes, he was filling my asshole with his piss. A lot of piss.

He laid on top of me and fucked me while I moaned, full and wriggling. He shoved the plug firmly into my mouth, making me taste the sweet lube and my fetid shit. The discomfort was visceral, and the thought of dirtying him, horrifying. He ordered me to come, and I had the most restrained orgasm I could manage, feeling the liquid mix dribbling over my cunt. He withdrew and smeared it into me - there. I was his filthy slut, soiled with piss, cum, and feaces.
(Thank you, Sir.)

I had thought it was over, but the hardest and most humiliating part was just beginning. I stood in the shower and whimpered as I realised what I was about to do. Master stood in the doorway looking bemused as I struggled through my dilemma - I couldn't hold it in for good. But letting it out was unbearable. The horror and humiliation as I released that stinking mess from my body - and with him watching - was awful and inescapable. I covered my face with my hands and groaned with shame, and pain from my overstretched hole. I was a disgrace, and I deserved it.

Yes, Doctor.... (visit 2)

I hadn't thought Master would want me to return, which was naive of me, really. Of course he did. It was an excellent chance to further my humiliation.

This time, I was dressed in another skirt, with knee-high boots and a carefully prepared cleavage presenting itself. I had to look like an invitation. Master had been sure to take the time to give me a short fuck that morning, but not to let me come. He wanted me to be wet and open enough for my scent to travel and be noticed. I could barely sit still from nerves and slippery arousal.

It took a little longer for my name to be called this time. I sat opposite the doctor expectantly, as he asked again "What can I do for you?"

"Um.. last week you told me, if I wanted the results of the test, to come back this week... I had a pap smear..."

Recognition hit his face and he turned away towards his computer while my face went red. This was not going to be easy, but Master had made very sure I knew my script. There was a recorder in my bag silently reminding me that I had no choice to abandon my task - Master would listen to the evidence later.

The doctor explained the results and filled out his paperwork routinely. We were almost done, and I had to speak now...

"Um, may I ask a question?" An easy way to start. And an easy way to make sure I had to continue. There was no backing out now.

The Fantasy....

"Yes?"
"Do many women like it?"
He looked curious. "Like what?"
"Having a pap smear."
He paused and looked me over, judging my sincerity, "Why do you ask?"
"Well, because I do. I like it a lot. I'd do it every week if I could."
He smiled and moved towards me, and suggested "Well, there are many health checks a woman should have on a regular basis."
My pussy twitched, "Oh? What would you reccommend, Doctor?"
He gestured toward the examination table. "Why don't you lie down and we can do something a little more thorough. I don't think we'll need the nurse this time, do you?"


..... The Reality:

"Yes?"
"Do many women like it?"
He frowned. "Like what?"
"Having a pap smear."
He looked horrifed, and snapped, "I should think not!"
My face burned with shame and intense humiliation. This was horrible. And fuck, I was wet.
The doctor took a breath. "Is that a problem?" he asked.
"Um, no. It's just that...." oh Sir, do I really have to...?
"Yes?"
"Well, I do. I would do it every week if I could." There. It was done.
"Well." He seemed disgusted and clearly did not approve. "Most find it embarassing."

I was dismissed. I had completed the most humiliating task Sir has set for me so far. I hated it. And yet, according to my soaking thighs, I loved it, too.

I hoped never to show my face there again. And I know, that doesn't matter. As Master said, there are plenty of doctors in this city. Its only a matter of time before I'm due to see another one.

Yes, Doctor.... (visit 1)

I sat in the surgery waiting room wearing a skirt, a fitted top, and a nervous smile. When I squeezed my thighs together I could feel the dampness between them, building up in anticipation of my time in the doctor's office. Anxiety and excitement made my breathing heavy. I was ready and eager, to show myself a slut and make my Master pleased.

My name was called quickly, and I followed the doctor inside to his private room. I was quickly becoming more and more excited. He asked "What can I do for you?" I took a deep breath. I hoped my voice didn't sound too shy as I asked for a pap test. The doctor smiled back, and said, "I'll just go and get the nurse."

It really is a pity so many doctors are so cautious these days.

The nurse was a nasty-looking woman, late fifties, with a grim manner. She invited me behind the curtain to the examination table and told me to take off my skirt, "and your knickers..." she began, but then stopped as she realised I had none. I climbed onto the table perhaps too eagerly, and she frowned while she told me to lie with my knees up and my feet close to my body. She placed an arbitrary cotton sheet over my lower half, and parted the curtain to tell the doctor I was ready.

Here was the part I was waiting for. I was sure my wetness must be flowing onto the table by now, as the doctor walked over, pulling on the latex gloves. He stood behind me for a moment, and I turned my head but couldn't see, until he walked back towards my feet, plastic speculum in hand. I could see the lubricant smeared on it and smiled, thinking, that was unnecessary, but would no doubt feel good.

He lifted the sheet and gently pushed my knees apart, instructing, "as wide as you can." There was no problem there. I spread my knees and showed him my open cunt. I could almost feel him looking at it. I was soaked - and there was no question he could see that and smell it. I wondered if he was noting my yawning lips and swollen clit, clear evidence of my arousal. Without speaking, my body was saying to him, I am a slut, and I love to be exposed.

The nurse was not watching. I tightened my muscles and prepared for my task. Master had been very clear: you are going to come, he'd said, and I want there to be no doubt at all in the doctor's mind.

He didn't touch me, just pushed the slippery plastic smoothly into my open hole. Oh, yes... my muscles clamped around it, my hips shifted, and as I let go, my body shook. I exhaled and let out a soft moan, my hips twitching, begging for more touching that would not come. I panted and flexed, slowing down as my orgasm completed. There. I watched his face. He had paused, but did not look up. The nurse still faced away.

Flushed, I laid there while the doctor warned, "No moving now," and finished what he had thought he was there to do. He collected the sample and cleaned up quickly and professionally, and I stayed still, feeling unfinished and ignored. I wondered, was I too quiet? No, surely that was quite clear. The nurse passed me a towel and left me to get dressed.

Sitting in front of the doctor again, I felt myself blushing, wondering if I would be questioned, feeling like a naughty child waiting to be chastised. Instead, he was all business as he asked, "Is that all you were wanting today?"

Um. "Yes, thank you."

"Ok. Take this through to the pathology desk on your way out." He looked at me again, and added, "If you actually wanted the results, you can come back next week."

If I wanted them. He was aware that wasn't my main concern. I left feeling both happy and horribly ashamed. I could tell Sir I had completed my homework task.

Resurrection

Okay. It's time to confess.

I thought it was over.

Almost three years ago I told Blknight that I thought Master and I had no future together. Our lifestyle committments were just too conflicting. And as recently as 24 hours ago, I thought that, plus my own failings, had finally gotten the better of us.

At one point along the way I had a fairytale in my head. I was doing so well, that I became far too confident. I took to my training well. I was pleasing my Master and making him proud. I was learning so fast, and making so few mistakes, that I thought I could be his perfect slave. It was only a matter of time, I imagined, until he would find me deserving. He would give me a collar, and I would know that I was Good Enough.

Over time, reality replaced the fantasy. I am not, nor will I ever be, perfect. I cannot take Master's pride for granted. At times, I disappoint him horribly. And I can work as hard as I like, but it doesn't mean I will earn anything. Often, just being adequate is hard enough. So of course, I have ended up doubting myself. Often, I have feared being replaced. Some days, I have convinced myself I am worthless.

So last weekend, when Master said he had given up, I thought he had given up on me. I know its not what he said - he was referring to scheduling... to problems with meeting people for play. But that doesn't stop my mind hearing it differently, and this time I heard the end. So 24 hours ago, when I knew in my gut, that him not answering my message meant he was fucking another slut, I felt sure I knew what would happen. All it would take was for him to find an adequate slut with fewer committments than me. And then she would take my place, become his number one, and I would be nothing.

But then he ordered me over to taste her residue on his cock. He had me wear her damp lace panties and inhale her scent from his sheets. He fucked me while he made me listen - desperate, struggling, and wet - to the details of his pleasure with her. He tied my hands and attached the TENS to my tits, and my cunt, and he gave me my Reminder Lesson. You are my slut, my hole, my slave. You are not free.

Amazing how my confidence can be restored - by having the woman I am jealous of almost literally shoved in my face... by having the Master I am afraid of losing, remind me how insignificant I am... because it means it is possible for me to keep my place. If I work hard enough.

Weighing Love

Master asked me the other night, if I thought that perhaps loving him might be unfavourable. I was surprised at the question, firstly because he so rarely mentions such thoughts to me. While I know very well that he thinks carefully about my role and training, it is always a surprise when he shares any inkling of his contemplations. I guess that in itself is a reason why I feel compelled to be sure I answer him fully and clearly when he does.

He had just finished using me – but not before telling me how much he had enjoyed another female sub the night before. I had been afraid, and when he confirmed my anxiety, I burst into tears. His question came later. I had truly never thought of it in this way before – that loving him might not be beneficial, not only because it can be painful, but specifically because of my insecurity about his enjoyment of other women.

I think part of the reason the idea is new to me is simple defense. I need to feel that loving him is worthwhile. Because it has caused me so much grief, I simply cannot question it. Reasons why it might not be perfect do not come anywhere near as easily to me as reasons why it is good and right.

Firstly, it gives him greater power, and thereby ensures my obedience. To disobey or disrespect him carries not only the risk of punishment and pain, but far greater than that: the fear of real loss. Loss of his approval, loss of his desire, and most of all, loss of his presence. All of that has meaning because I love him.

And the flipside of that is his approval and praise has real value to me. I am increasingly motivated to please him each time he tells me I have done well. His smile, an affectionate touch, or a rare kiss is an invaluable incentive because of my love. He could give me any number of cocks or orgasms, but the greater reward is always him showing pleasure in me. I doubt his approval would have such significance if I did not truly adore him.

Thirdly, loving him gives me great loyalty. I am naturally a loyal person, but for love, my faithfulness is fierce. And it needs to be, for a slut such as myself not to sleep around, or even touch myself without his knowledge. Temptation is enormous. I know full well that without love to keep me on track, I do give in.

And perhaps biggest of all, is that love compels me to self-sacrifice. The moments when I am overcome with the sheer rolling current of passion and adoration for him, I want most desperately to prove the depth of my emotion by giving him all I can. I know there is simply no way I could promise so much to him without being driven by love.

So loving him is a good thing, an important thing. And I feel like I want to stop there, not think more on the subject at all. But that would not be answering the question that Sir posed to me.

I love him. And when he likes someone else, it withers me. But I think the real reason for that is not my love, not directly. It is fear – that I cannot be loved.

……..

For two days this blog has been sitting here, incomplete. How do I finish this? How do I explain? I am so afraid…

Perhaps by saying again, that I do not expect my Master to love me. It is right that I offer him my heart without return.

… but I need to please him. I need to earn his approval, his pride. I need to feel that I am good enough, in some way. I need to make him smile. Because it makes me worth something.

And what if I don’t make him smile? And what if someone else does? I have no place, then. I am nobody. If I do not deserve his pleasure, I deserve nothing at all.

I know it’s not the slightest bit rational. I know Master has plenty of enjoyment to go around. Someone else pleasing him does not make me please him any less. But I fear I already please him less, that I’m just not good enough to please him more. So others are terrifying, not because I feel they lessen me, but because I already doubt what I deserve.

As I write this, it occurs to me that there is one real measure of what I deserve: what my Master chooses to give me. I should have faith in his appraisal. It is far more trustworthy than mine.

Notorious anonymous

Perhaps it is true that we all want to be famous for something? I never used to think so. In my vanilla world, I mean. I've always thought I preferred to stay out of the limelight. You wouldn't think so from seeing me "slut", but I am actually the quiet one at parties, standing in the corner having a peaceful drink and chat. The thought of getting everyone's attention makes my palms wet as much as my pussy, lol.

But no slut would be complete without a streak of exhibitionism. Did I say a streak? In reality, I have grown to have a whole lot more than that. With Master's encouragement, I have learned to love people watching me fuck. Or play. Or just prance around half naked. Last time I was at the airport picking Master up, I wore a top that showed nearly my whole tits, and thoroughly enjoyed the extra attention from security. Not to mention the guy who bought me a drink just so he could take a photo and inform me he was going to jerk off on the plane.

Somehow it never feels like enough. I want full exposure, more attention! At last count Master had no less than 1,780 photos of me used, fucked, whored, choked, creamed, or just showing off. Plus video. I look through them and wish so badly I could show the world what I am.

Back in the days when I still played around freely, I started getting into doing webcam shows on kinky personals sites. I would start of playing the 'traditional' way, then gradually work up to more unique additions, watching the number of viewers grow. I would show off my pain tolerance, open my slut holes, and get dirty with hundreds of people watching. Yeah!

I often wish I could develop this blog into my very own pornsite. "slutnadi.com". There would be pics, more every week or every day, and some of my kinky artwork. I'd add links to my favourite online porn. Perhaps there would be snippets of video, and a collection of Master's favourite photos and entries. There could be a guestbook and a private email where viewers could make personal requests. Paysite or freebie, I wouldn't care. I would be grateful for every person who saw me being myself and thought, 'What a whore'...

Would Master ever allow that? I really don't know. My feeling is, not while I want it so much. I used to feel great frustration that he does not allow me to disclose my blog address without permission. Now, I recognise the wisdom in that. A private blog allows me to speak more freely. It also keeps its purpose intact: the blog is for my Master, not for entertaining a crowd. And it reminds me that, like my body, my thoughts are owned... and will be shared with whom he chooses. Feed the exhibitionist too much, and she may forget how to watch and listen...