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Property Is Pussy

June 13th, 2006

To say I irritated Master Melen yesterday might be putting it lightly. The progression of the way He refers to me when trying to get my attention usually goes from an over-exaggerated “slave”, to remind me quickly where I stand, to an angry “bitch” and even angrier “cunt”. Last night we skipped slave all together.

I’m not sure what happened exactly. I know how I pissed Him off. He would ask me questions and I’d pop off at the mouth. Sometimes just being whiney, but others being outright sarcastic. He tried to laugh it off at first, calling me a grouch, but I wouldn’t stop. And I’m not sure why I was being that way. The only thing I can think of is I was tired. But I know that’s no excuse.

By the time Master was able to go to bed, His job and His slave had Him so infuriated I’m surprised His look alone didn’t shear my head from my shoulders. I knelt no longer than two seconds before He growled “Turn off the lights and get on the bed. And I want to feel your lips.”

I climbed into bed beside Him and laid on my side. I slithered close to Him and began to lick and kiss and suckle His back and legs.

When He grew tired of it, He growled “Are you fuckable, cunt?”

“Yes, Master.” I whispered.

“Then lay on your back and spread your legs.”

I yanked the top sheet and comforter off the bed and wriggled onto my back. Then I placed a hand under each knee and pulled my legs, spread wide, to my chest like He likes them. And He slapped me twice and put His hand on my throat.
“This fuck isn’t from love. It’s a hard cock getting off in a dumb cunt. And you’re a dumb cunt, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Master,” I gasped.

Sometimes when He’s that angry, He’ll fuck me relentlessly just the way He knows will make me squeal the loudest (which usually is brought about by the way He likes it the most) and if I makes the slightest noise, slap me and tell me it’s not for me to enjoy. Remaining still and quiet when He’s fucking me is next to impossible but I try like hell.

Not last night. Last night, He pinned me to the bed and fucked me and let me writhe and moan and whimper.

I tried to keep my pleasure quiet and to myself, but it soon became obvious that it didn’t matter that He was fucking me 1) because I was the most convenient piece of pussy at the time and 2) because He was angry. I was hot and wet and incredibly turned on, and I was being treated like a worthless toy. And when I thought of it, while I got utterly embarrassed (I could feel my cheeks heating and know they were glowing), my pussy just got wetter.

Master groped me and pulled my hair, treated me somewhat like a common street walker. All the while pounding His cock into my pussy, pleasuring Himself with His property. And while groping my chest, pinching my nipples and tits, He said, “This is what Men want from you. Not your big fucking mouth.”

When He was finished, He came hard and long inside me and then got up. “Get over there and cum, slut.”

Only this time “slut” didn’t have the endearing petname quality to it. It sounded hostile and angry and almost like an insult. But for the first time in a long time instead of feeling shame when He spoke it that way, I felt relief. And realization hit that I am a slut and I’m proud of what I am.

I slapped my hand to my pussy and the second I touched my clit, it sprung to life, putting me on the edge almost immediately. In mere seconds I pushed myself over and cried out my pleasure. The only thing that could have made
that orgasm better is having Master inside me when I came. He sent me for a wash cloth to clean Him up with and when we were both washed up we got back into bed.

As I curled to my side, facing Master, the blanket wrapped between my legs and under my chin, Master said to me, “I would suggest not getting mouthy at all tomorrow.”

“Yes, Master.” I whispered, and then it was over.

I realized in all this that the shame and embarrassment I feel because of my sexuality is both unwarranted and unnecessary. While I doubt I’ll ever be able to stop feeling them completely, there are times when they don’t bother me as much. I still occasionally get this cold feeling in the pit of my stomach when Master mentions letting others use me, though just the thought turns me on and I know that once in the act there will be no hiding what I truly am.

Master once called me His little paradox. There are things that I do not like (the cane, feeling worthless or unimportant, sometimes the crop or knotty cat, etc) that get me so wet that I drip. The ultimate sexual paradox. Or something.

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