Spoils

"The four friends gathered in a circle, and in its middle was placed the girl, dressed as she had been at the moment she had been seized.... she was stripped, and, naked, passed and passed again, five or six times over, from one of our libertines to the other, she was turned about, she was turned the other way, she was fingered, she was handled, they sniffed, they spread, the peeped, they examined the state of the goods, was it new, was it used, but did all this coolly and without permitting to upset any aspect of the examination."

I've been reading a delicious peice of literature lately, and its images are imprinting themselves on my mind. Its author is incredibly cruel to his characters, and I think what makes me enjoy that the most is the utter lack of feeling for them. They are described factually and coldly, and their tortures are outlined with total impartiality. Its not the events of the story that turn me on, so much as the incredible indifference - what can only be called pure sadism.

It was in this frame of mind that I waited in Master's bed last night, until he finally climbed in, followed closely by a visitor who walked in the front door and straight to the bedroom. I was fingered and fucked, loving feeling as insignificant an object as a girl from the book. The visitor knew not to ask what I wanted, that I was there to be taken, and regarded me as a thing for my Masters pleasure.

Afterwards, he told me I was spoiled. What can I say to that? Its true, on this occasion Master gave me permission to orgasm freely for some time.... and he did some things specifically to get a hornier, wetter reaction from me. But our visitor wasn't around when I had begged him for permission to masturbate that morning, then spent and hour in front of the pc touching myself at his instruction, but not allowed to come.... and he didn't see me squirming and sighing all day because I was so desperate for a fuck that I couldn't sit still. The visitor had never been there when I was deliberately made sick with jealousy, or when I was reduced to tears by having my emotional buttons pushed for Master's entertainment. He hadn't been there to see me tied outside, soaking wet and shivering in the cold, or forced to kneel until I cried from the cramps in my legs. Would he still call me spoiled if he'd seen that?

Maybe he would. Master sometimes asks, "don't you think you are spoiled?" and I really don't know what to say then. To answer "no" sounds so ungrateful. To answer "yes" sounds both critical and smug. The honesty rule doesn't give me an answer either: I genuinely don't know if I am spoiled or not. Who am I to measure how he should treat me?

All I want to say when I'm accused of this is, so what? Master treats me the way it pleases him to treat me. Sometimes that means making sure I enjoy myself immensely - but does that mean its just for me? What about the fact that it pleases him to see me writhing in lust and enjoying myself sometimes? What about the sensation he likes to get when I orgasm so intensely that he says it is like an earth tremour around his cock? If I'm spoiled, its not because Master feels an obligation to my enjoyment, but because he has much to gain from spoiling me.

The thing I have loved most when Master doesn't spoil me, when he is simply mean and cold and hurts me, is that he regards me with the exact same detached level-headedness as when he gives me more obvious pleasure. He is indifferently passionate, and tenderly cruel. Spoiled or not, I am his object, and I love it that way.

A welcome gift

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Use me

When I was 17 years old, the guy I was dating told me he loved me. It really pissed me off. He was 9 years older than me, and the major reason I was seeing him was precisely to avoid that sort of extraneous involvement. It was suppposed to be just sex. I didn't want all that other stuff along with it, not from him.

I felt annoyed. I asked, "why did you say that?" He responded "I just want you to know I'm not using you." Yes, he was. And thats exactly why I was enjoying myself. But what was I supposed to say? "Using" was supposed to be something bad. I was still too young to admit I wanted "bad" things. I had to grudgingly accept his romantic declarations and pretend I wanted them. But I was disappointed.

And I still have that disappointment on a regular basis. Some men just can't get past their feelings of obligation to give a woman something 'nice'. Even when they know I'm an owned slut, they still try and treat me to something. They still look at my face to check whether I'm having a good time. Why can't I just be used?

I guess that's why Master is teaching me to be more vocal about my depravities - telling me he wants me to be just as disgustingly honest with others as I am with him, when asked to say what I am, and what I like. I know he enjoys watching me lose my inhibitions... perhaps if I can give them inspiration, others can lose theirs and use me more freely?

The more the merrier 2

I once met a vanilla guy who had a fetish for gang bangs. Probably not unusual. What surprised me was his explanation of what appealed to him about one woman and multiple men. "It's a woman enjoying herself - it's all about her pleasure, and lots of it."

I was speechless, and then I laughed. I had never seen it that way before. For me, the appeal of a gang bang is completely opposed to that. Yes, its true that it is enjoyable. But not in the sense of being pampered or spoiled. I love to be gang banged because I love the degrading experience. I love to be groped and fucked from all directions so that I have no control over it, and lose all sense of myself until I am just a groaning, screaming slut - no thought, just pure carnal response. I love to hear people talking about me as an object: "someone else want a go at this end?".. "I think she needs something in her mouth" ... because my wants are irrelevent. Except as entertainment, when I am asked by Master to express them out loud so that everyone can hear what a debauched slut I am.

Last night I was used with my legs pulled apart by hand-held ropes, with so many fingers and cocks in me that I no longer knew what was being put where, with my hair being pulled and two cocks shoved in my mouth at a time, with a fist inside my pussy wanking Master as he fucked me, while I screamed in pain and asked for more. I was made to beg each person for permission to cum, and for someone to use my ass. Try telling me this scene was designed exclusively to make me happy. It did, because it wasn't.

For me, it's not about being pleasured, it's about being exploited. It's also about power, and the subtle threat implied by being thoroughly outnumbered - the knowledge that even if I wanted to stop, I would not have the opportunity. And it's about being dirty and slutty to the extreme, and not hesitating to show it fully... pleasing Master, knowing how much he likes to see me regress to that animal state.

I wonder if some men feel uneasy with that notion? Like my straight vanilla friend I mentioned earlier, maybe some feel more comfortable thinking they are being "extra nice". Maybe thats why at some point someone always says, "she loves it" - perhaps they are trying to comfort themselves?

Whore

Watched The Libertine tonight, and as with all period-movies, I end up thinking, if I was alive back then, I’d be queen of the whores. I can never quite decide if I’d be the most notorious, sought-after, expensive whore, or the dirtiest, most shamed, most used whore around. Maybe both. The women would hate me, and I would shock them by inviting them in. No man would see me as anything more than an object.

I often fantasise about it somehow being public knowledge that I am a slut to be used. I imagine having some kind of sign, or notoriety, that means every adult I meet instantly knows they may have me. I imagine the humiliation of seeing that smirk on peoples faces everywhere I go. I imagine having no choice but to dutifully comply if anyone, anywhere, tells me to kneel and open my mouth. In line at the grocery store, with strangers pausing to snigger at me as they walk past. Or the waiter at the café turning the tables on me if I say that my coffee is cold. No need to be discrete if everyone there knows who I am.

The night I’ve spent with Master that most often returns to my fantasies, was a little bit like this. I was dressed in nothing but a collar, while a group of his acquaintances came by to drink and play cards. It was never spoken to me, but it was clear what I was there for. All of them treated me like a slave and a slut. I don’t think anyone played cards, lol. While not everything went perfectly, that night is still vivid in my mind as a very fulfilling experience. I was exactly who I’d always wanted to be.

Slut's advocate

You know what sucks? Men who feel that they have to please and impress a woman during sex. These guys put so much effort into their suave moves, spend hours on foreplay if you let them, and lick pussy using robotic, over-practiced strokes that go on forever in between murmurs of "Mmmm, yum.." Its obvious from the look of concentration on their face that their main motive is the ego-trip from believing they are a good lover. And you have no choice but to let them think they are, otherwise they only try harder!

You can see the type on online sex and dating sites - they are the ones who go on about supplying sensual massage, and how they just love to give oral. They say things like "I know how to please a woman" and make promises about the number of orgasms the lucky lady will reach.

As a slut who likes to be used, I find this only slightly more entertaining than reality TV - they are both poses, but at least if its sex I have the expectation that I'll get a cock into me at some point. If I can stay awake. Ok, I'd better settle down now before I get just too darn mean....

I blame other women for creating these dull guys. Women who whine and complain about their man not trying hard enough, not doing enough foreplay, expecting to just cram it in and fuck repetitively, using them as though they don't have their own needs. These women who are so common that it becomes a stereotype, and then people joke about it and men end up with TV, movies, radio, advertising, everything telling them from all angles that women need a complicated routine with a ten page list of techniques, and you'd better please them or you are some kind of lazy chauvinist.

Sigh. Many women would hate what I am about to say, but they can stick it. Not enough men are comfortable enough to just fuck anymore. Take your massage oils and edible body paint elsewhere - I just wanna be used, dammit! I don't want to feel like any man is putting effort in for my pleasure. I want him to just bend me over and please himself. Pure selfish animal fucking.... Mmmm........ That is hot sex.

Of course, in my sex life I don't get to be discerning. Master chooses who fucks me and how they may do it, and that means occasionally I wind up acting with someone who, despite it being obvious that I'm just a slut, feels that he needs to try hard to impress me with his handed-down techniques. And that's ok, because I am a slave. I am still being used, even when its more about their ego than their erection.

But sometimes I really want to say it: guys, if you want a soft, loving, sensual woman, then by all means go the slow, gentle option. But if you want a slut - for fuck's sake, treat a woman like a slut!

Catharsis, exposure, and a nice place to be

Today, on my way home from his house, I pulled over and screamed. LOUD. Then I sat and bawled my eyes dry, sobbing right from the gut, roaring, howling, holding nothing back. And as I gradually calmed, I found myself moaning, "please.... please, Sir...." and then finally finished the thought at a whisper, "....... please, hurt me...? "

We all need our coping strategies. And yes, there are "normal" things that I do to release my emotions in times of stress. This morning's outburst is a perfect example. I also swim, create photo-art (not always very well, but thats not the point), get massage... oh, and masturbate, lol. But there is absolutely nothing that matches being really hurt for effective stress management. But if I was to try that alone.... well...... lets not go there.

When I'm feeling the pressure of life, I spend more and more of my energy on control - trying to limit the things that stress me, and the effort it takes to control my reactiveness, to avoid expressing my feelings at the wrong place and time. I crave letting Master take away that control, giving my body up to him, and surrendering. The freedom of trust. And each strike is a chance to give up more - to shift my mind from trying to avoid painful sensation to saying "YES" until I am welcoming it... and when his pattern changes, the struggle of avoiding again.... then once again, welcoming.... Its a practice of submission, to him, but also to myself. Accept the pain and it no longer becomes a threat. Just as that applies physically, the same is true for emotional pain.

Being flogged is almost like psychodrama. Its taking whats going on internally and making it tangible, allowing me to choose how to respond to it. Don't avoid it, feel it. Accept it, then release it. Feel... accept... release... feel... accept... release... until it becomes my whole existence, and I've forgotten who I am... forgotten everything except feel-accept-release, and above all, the love and gratitude for Sir, who has become the Sun. Such perfect peace, as though I could just fade into transparency and slowly disappear. The word 'subspace' only cheapens it.

I don't want to give the wrong idea - I did enjoy my night with him last night. He put me on show performing at his instructions online. I do enjoy it when he shows me off. I love standing in the position he has placed me in while he runs a finger between my thighs and teases me, knowing that someone is watching, someone who knows he can do anything he likes with me.

He asked me at one point if it was the thought that the voyeur(s) might be aroused and excited watching me, that they might lust after me and want to use me, but its not really any of those things. What I love the most is the simple objectification of it. The fact that my Master has me on display, like.... well, like a possession, which is exactly what I am. Not that people are looking at me but that they can look at me. That I have no way of hiding, no dignity, am allowed no modesty, I am not a person but a human object. One of my biggest fantasies is to be tied up in some exposing position, and gagged, then left in the middle of a room while people socialise around me. They would talk, and drink... and make comments about me, tease me... but even more humiliating, they would also periodically ignore me.

He didn't let me orgasm until very late last night, so when I finally could, it seemed to go on forever. Face down, turning my head to the side, I could see his shape over me, feel the power as he pushed hard into me, and I felt small, and owned. Not quite the catharsis I've been pleading for, but a nice place to be.

I have so many worries right now, and I had planned to blog them, but now I feel like leaving it on a more positive note instead. Sometimes its all so hard. And yes, Sista, there is always a choice to make. But sometimes, even through the tough shit, the choice is so right that its already made before the question is asked - and then its easy to forget that there ever was one.

Umm, where was that positive note...? Really, all I'm trying to say is, I love my Master unconditionally. I have given myself to him - my body, my mind, my heart, my life. I have given up my freedom. I have given up my consent. I have no right to take anything back, and I would never want to. I am his, inside and out. Even when its so fucking hard... its still a nice place to be.

A feminist would be horrified...

I love when I look at his msn window and see that he is displaying a photo of me - being used, by men, women, or both, or restrained and waiting for his touch, or strike. It is true that a part of it is simply exhibitionism - I can't deny that I get enjoyment out of exposing myself to others. But what I feel specifically when I am exposed by him is more a kind of objectification - not in the sense of being made into a literal object, but something that is more a specific type of humilition, in the sense that I am made to feel I am more "thing" than person. When he displays my photo, I feel humiliated in the most pleasurable way, from the knowledge that he can show me to whom he likes, as his possession. And along with that is the expectation that they will not look at me as a person with needs and desires, but as an object there to be used.

Some of my biggest childhood fantasies were of being touched, grabbed, and groped by uninvited strangers. In my imagination I would be minding my own business when someone would approach and slip their hand under my skirt or into my top. My protests didn't phase these characters, they didn't care what I wanted or about anything I said - they just saw me as a collection of body parts for their entertainment. And today the fantasy continues, though now incorporating Master's ownership of me as part of the theme. I am less human and more an object because I am his property. He can choose to expose me, or allow someone to use me. If he tells someone they may fuck me, then they may, and what I think is irrelevant. In a way I feel freed of myself, to become nothing but a plaything, without an identity, without feelings or thoughts of my own - less, even, than a slut.

....I'm finishing this prematurely due to sheer exhaustion, after a long and very exciting, humiliating-objectifying evening yesterday. I can't think straight, or remember all of what I wanted to say... but I will add one more thing: Thank you, Sir :)