All the self-respect of a......

Lately I've been loving being offered in exchange for work done on my Master's house. I'm being treated like a slutty object, a fucktoy to be used. The other day I had to be there on show for the refridgeration guy, then drive to another house to be used, and return in time for the electrician to fuck each of my holes. Walking through town in a tiny mini skirt and stockings on a hot day, I felt like an obvious whore... and, I hoped, a cheap one.

The other day, Master allowed me to make copies of many of the photos he's taken of me in use. It started me thinking about all the people he has had inside my holes since I've known him. I don't even think I'd be able to count. I want to laugh now, when I think about the promise he made me on that day..... that if I was his, he would make sure I was an extreme slut. I can't believe I doubted him at the time! Now, I honestly think I am far bigger a slut than I could ever have become of my own accord. And I know he will make me even better.

Two things are bringing all this to mind right now. The first is Master's observation, and my own, that somehow I've been less desperate than usual to have my holes fucked lately. I sincerely don't know what exactly it is, but I've been strangely "take it or leave it" a lot of the time. Its a little bewildering. I think a part of it is in my devotion to him - thankfully, the one lust that has not reduced in the slightest is my desire for Master and the drive to please him. Ironically, though, its led to him becoming somewhat disappointed with my sluttiness and desire for others.

Master's solution has not come as a surprise to me. Back when he took control of my sex life, bit by bit, I began to fear that one day he would take control of my masturbation, too. And now, the loss of that right not only reminds me that I am completely possessed, but it also serves another purpose: he is forcing me to remain hornier and hornier, so that I become utterly desperate to be fucked. Its a cruel kindness. And so far its working exactly as he planned.

The other statement bringing me to contemplate my slut's state of mind, is a suggestion, in an online forum, that to be used this way, I must have questionable self-respect. I found the idea intriguing, because it made me realise something vital: its amazing how much more pride I take in myself now, than I used to! And all it took was to be enslaved, whored, abused, and placed on the bottom of the heap for anyone to use! Its amazing what a sense of having found your place can do for one's self esteem :)

I believe there was once a time when my self-respect really was low. Its hard to remember now. But the way Master has trained me, my most degrading behaviours have become my greatest sources of self-worth. And I guess that makes it even more important that I re-ignite my horny state quickly - so I can be sure to maintain all the self-respect of a deserving, deviant, dirty slut!

Slut appreciation

There are two types of men in the world: those who like sluts, and those who don't. The tricky part is, its not always clear which is which. Some guys who say they can't stand women like that, harbour a secret fascination for promiscuity. And others who truly get off on it, do so more out of anger and hatred than genuine desire. Its a shame, but I think its these mixed reactions that give sluts a bad name among women more than the sluts themselves.

There is nothing inherently offensive about a women who loves to be fucked indiscriminately. Not that I can see, anyway. There may well be some real objection to 'enticing' otherwise virtuous men, or to the degrading treatment of women - but they are characteristics of the men, not the slut. A true slut doesn't judge a man's motives, she just shares in the fun.

Master says all men love sluts, when they are honest about it. In a way I can see his point, there is probably some testosterone-driven part of all men that gets a reaction from a horny bitch no matter who they are. But on the other hand, I have been rejected enough for my sexuality that I can't help question the significance of that.

When I had only just met Master, when he was still gradually increasing his control over me, I went out on a date with a straight, vanilla guy. I look back and think, what the hell was I thinking? As I explained at the time, I didn't just want a hot sex life - I wanted someone to care about, and spend time with, and talk to. I thought D/s was unemotional, and you had to go vanilla to find love. Compartmentalisation. I'm now embarassed by how completely, stupidly, wrong I was.

I remember the anxiety when it came time to tell my vanilla guy about my deviant, slutty nature. I was convinced he would run a mile. Instead, in line with Master's theory, he was over the moon.

But in the end, it was the vanilla relationship that turned out to be exclusively sexual, and emotionally empty. Sure, his cock loved that I was a slut. But his brain forgot every conversation we'd had until that point. If we planned something that wasn't likely to involve sex, he cancelled at the last minute, or even worse, stood me up. Until I decided to forget it... and instead, turned to Master, and became his... and learned what I'd really been missing.

Looking back, I'm horrified to think what I almost lost with Master, and so grateful that he tolerated my short experiment in dating. I remember almost losing my chance with him, and begging him to allow me to serve, promising I would be loyal to him above my vanilla guy. I know now that Master does not tolerate ambiguity lightly... I am incredibly lucky that he gave me that chance.

Vanilla guy got so into the slut that he just wanted to have fun trashing her. Master, on the other hand, treats sluttiness like a talent - he uses it, but he also nurtures it, moulds it, and takes real joy from it. Its the difference between a drunk and a connoisseur. I can enjoy each, but I know where my place will always be.

Truth takes you by surprise

Its amazing how used to something I can get, so that it feels totally normal, and then suddenly experience all over again exactly how degrading it really is.

I was used four times the other day. I truly wish I could share the nature of the first time, but its one of the things on Master’s “top secret” list. Suffice to say it left me quite raw - my pussy swollen and sensitive.

Following straight after that was a fuck from a man I found very off-putting. While I don’t need to find someone attractive to fuck them, its rare for me to meet someone I’d prefer to say no to. This one was an exceptional turn-off. But it wasn’t optional – Master owed him. So I was used, and I tried to please him, even more aware than usual that it wasn’t my choice.

When I was told to go to Master’s house later that night, I was reluctant. Anyone who knows me would find it hard to imagine: nadi not wanting to be fucked??! Lol. But I was sore, red, swollen and very uncomfortable from the day’s treatment. On the one hand, I love it when being fucked hurts... but on the other, if I was sore now, after Master used me, it would get much worse...

Not only did he use me, but he also humiliated me and had me fucked and licked by a timid, apologetic sub boy, while I groaned in discomfort, unable to hold still from the pain and swelling by the time they were done. I stood there afterwards, holding on to Master's bed post, rocking back and forth in some vague attempt to ease the pain enough to walk properly, and it seemed totally natural to be there, feeling this way. Not once did it occur to me that there was anything out of the norm about this situation...

Not until two days later, reliving this in my mind, when I realised how normal it felt to be so used. And how high and warm and blissfully controlled it felt to know how normal it feels. Being owned, a slave, a slut, an object, is now so easily a part of me. What was once alien and exciting is now familiar and comfortable. I contemplated that today, and felt a rush of awe and pleasant shame that made me self-consciously wrap my arms around my body, at my desk at work.

In many ways its lovely to be getting used to this.... but I hope I am never too used to it, so that I don't have these hot moments of such strong awareness that this is all real.

Promises, promises

There is nothing quite the same as the grim feeling of deciding to break a promise to myself. I'm stubborn in some ways, I suppose, though I prefer to think of it as loyalty and perserverance. But obviously, if anything can convince me to break a promise I made to myself, its my Master's will.

It was many years ago when, to escape poor body image and pressure to conform, I vowed never to change my shape for a man. A lot has changed since then. My body is no longer my own, and pride is no longer an excuse. It still took a bit of mental pressure to get me to accept breaking the promise. But just a bit.

Master has been too kind to make me feel bad about my recent weight gain, but he has given me a little nudge on the topic. It was in my dreams where he really got strict on it - I woke up panting after dreaming he had tied my hands and leashed me to a treadmill to get me moving. Lol.

In the end, I've got to get over myself and please my Master. I want to take care of his property as he would like me to. I want him to be as proud of my appearance as I hope he is with my behaviour. He owns my body, and he deserves to have it please him. So today, I walked into a gym for the first time in my life. This is a big deal for me. I am, I suppose, breaking another limit for him, and this one I have to do on my own.

I smile sometimes, when I think how much he has changed me in such a short time...

Being natural

The day I met Master, he could see my awful potential, and he asked if I had ever been abused. A common enough assumption - how else does a person learn to treat themselves this way? I told him the truth, that as far as I'm aware, I never have been. He said that he suspected I was simply a natural.

I still vividly remember, at age 15, lying on the beach on a warm night, surrounded by boys. Hands stroking my thighs, massaging my shoulders, creeping towards my chest... a mouth on my neck... intoxicated with alcohol, THC, and exploitation. Had I had the comfort then that I do now, I might have said, use me.... abuse me...

Last night Master was fucking me and sinking his teeth into my skin while I shuddered and asked for him to draw my blood. He smiled and said "you are extreme, aren't you, babe?" and I felt myself relax and open up even more to him, from the peace in knowing that, under him, "extreme" is an OK thing to be. He started slapping me, making the tears come, with that beautiful release of endorphins that sends me to another world of bliss... the high of my body's natural chemicals, the pain, and the freedom of what it means to ride with it, whatever he may do to me. Afterwards, he let me fall straight to sleep, and I sunk into a heavy ecstasy, thinking, I could just die from this feeling....

When I was 8 or so, I wrote a fantasy that began with a boy from my classroom touching me, accidentally at first, then progressing to forcing me down while he stripped off my clothes. It ended in a frenzied gang rape by about 20 boys - despite the fact that I had little understanding of how sex was done, I knew even then that I wanted it forced on me, that I wanted to be mistreated and used. To my great shame, my mother found the story and was understandably horrified. I thought it best to hide my fantasies from then on.

Master has taught me to let go of so much inhibition, and to be so free from shame. If an abused victim can spend years exploiting their own body, and then learn to let go and treat themselves with love and care, then why not the reverse? Why not a born slut who has become repressed and ashamed, learning to let go and love expressing who they always wanted to be?

Dance with the devil... :)

Its been one of those porn-watching days today - loads of it! I'm a girl who likes to store it for a rainy day instead of checking it out immediately. I just stash it away for months and then, when I'm suddenly feeling up for it, I'll go a whole day where all I do is go through and see what treasures I've accumulated. And there is some pretty nasty stuff that Master will just love :) But thats not the subject of this post.....

Just now I was watching this clip that started with no beating around the bush (and I love beating bush, but its not that kind of vid...) a guy on his back, with a woman riding him furiously. You could see she was enjoying herself. Then a second guy came up so she could suck his cock, and for a moment everyone was enjoying themselves. But then I found myself thinking... hang on a minute, she's not putting much effort in there.... she's barely trying to suck him at all.... doesn't she want to make sure he enjoys himself....? oh my god, now she's stopped sucking altogether while she orgasms - she's putting her pleasure ahead of his! ....why doesn't he slap her and shove that cock back into her mouth and remind her what she is there for????

And thats when I thought, um.... just a sec, that isn't me.... some women are meant to fuck for their own enjoyment, aren't they? Oops...

Sometimes I still surprise myself with how much I've changed, and it makes me smile. Concepts that seemed alien to me a year ago now seem totally natural - to the point where, I see a woman getting fucked, and my assumption is that she is being used for the man's pleasure and may or may not be allowed her own. Or the other day, I said to Sir, that I felt angry at the idea of anyone suggesting they would like to use me without his consent. Not being free to fuck alone was something I was still learning to accept when I started this blog, and now I don't even question that I am his property - and it makes me mad when someone else dares think otherwise.

Master's control over me is even evident in my dreams. I am a slut by anyone's definition, and I have a lot of fantasies and dreams. Now I don't have either without somehow incorporating Master's permission into it. There were a few times when I woke up from a sex dream in a panic, thinking I'd just disobeyed him, before I realised it wasn't real. And the other night, I couldn't even participate in my own dream! I just watched other people doing it, thinking, I have to wait for permission...

I used to think training was what happened in between play - a specified time and place where a sub is explicitly taught to please their owner. Now I know that's how crappy training is done. Quality training is done all the time, during every interaction, even simple conversation. You don't even realise its happening, except in hindsight. Thats the learning that sinks in, and changes who you are.

Wow, I am lucky :)

Lots in a name

A while back I was in a study group talking about our characteristics and experiences that make us who we are. At the conclusion, each of the participants was asked to name one thing that they feel defines them in some way, a label or a connection that they feel strongly is "who I am". When it came to my turn, I had to pass. Not because I didn't have an answer, but because the answer would have made the others in the room quite uncomfortable. I don't feel a connection to much - my gender, my age, my family, my career, my home, none of these feel like an important part of me. The only thing that came to mind as a real answer was that I am nadi, my Master's slave-slut.

Master said to me today that he finds it difficult not to call me nadi in the company of people who don't know me by that name. I can certainly relate - I feel so comfortable as nadi that sometimes I almost don't recognise my so-called "real name". When I am asked my name, I often pause for a split second before answering. But when I can say my name is nadi, it rolls off my tongue without hesitation.

It seems quite strange that a name I've only used sparingly until fairly recently has come to mean so much to me compared to the name I was given at birth. Or maybe it makes perfect sense - it is, after all, a name I've chosen, and one that has become attached to some of the most transformational experiences of my life, which I have also chosen, and without which I would not be the same person. If I wasn't nadi, I truly wouldn't be me.