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Rough Sex and Facing Fears

March 27th, 2007

�Suck on these.� He growled as He shoved His fingers in my
mouth. And I did. Fervently. Relishing the taste of myself as more fingers
roamed over my body and fucked my pussy.

I listened to Him snore softly and rolled over to attempt to fall
asleep myself. It seemed I had just barely drifted off when suddenly I
was awakened to a hard, resonating thud in my ribs. I cried out, still
too deep in dreamland to stop myself. Another punch in the side, then
the back, then the other side, and suddenly my pussy was full of
fingers. Forceful, exploring fingers, and my cunt sprung to life. I
moaned and spread my legs farther to allow the invasion access and it
was gone.

�Suck on these.� He growled as He shoved His fingers in my
mouth. And I did. Fervently. Relishing the taste of myself as more fingers
roamed over my body and fucked my pussy.


Cum dumpster. Dumb whore. Piece of cunt. Bitch. Slut.


And I was on my side with His cock slamming into my cunt and His fist wrapped
firmly in my hair. Twisting. Pulling. Grabbing for more hair. Better leverage.
Tighter grip.


The soft, almost inaudible grunts coming from behind me were
both masculine and primal. The fingers clawing at my flesh were sadistic and taunting.
I do not doubt His face was twisted into that mask of animalistic hunger that
so many sadists wear. And I? I was just something to empty His balls into.


Any slut will do. Any hole. A dumb bitch with a nice pussy. Or
a good mouth. Or a tight, clean ass. He chooses me again and again. And I am
grateful.


I often think about how I will react when He, once again,
chooses another. When His cock has found another hole it enjoys frequenting and
I am one of two. Or many. What I will want to do is throw myself at His feet
and beg to be of some use to them both. Involved in some way. Even if she is
slave. Even if she is second slave. The desperation I feel when my cunt goes
unused for any reason a painful ache that refuses to subside until itâ??s filled
or Iâ??m forced to surrender.


What I do and what I want to do, however, are often very
different things. Fear rivets me to my place, my hands at my sides and my voice
caught in my throat as I nonchalantly carry on with life. Fear of what? Losing
His respect? He doesnâ??t respect me. How could He? Iâ??m a slave. Being
embarrassed? I guess thatâ??s a strong possibility. Fear of denial and rejection?
Thatâ??s most of it. Easier to not ask at all than to be told Heâ??s not
interested.


I suppose this is something I should get over. Perhaps Iâ??ll
work on facing my fear.

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