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A Sore Pussy

March 29th, 2007


Though they are worlds apart, theyâ??re fluent in each otherâ??s
language. He is Master and she is slave. He speaks and she obeys. And the
fucking that ensues, not lovemaking, leaves her sore in the morning.



A girl lies in a bed on her stomach. Her body is bare save a
thick ring (â??It looks like a dog collar.â? â??Itâ??s supposed to.â?) locked about her
throat. The blankets are pulled up over her shoulders and she is sleeping
soundlessly, her face content.


A man lies beside her. Also nude, but awake. Watching but a
moment before putting his fingers to her flesh.


As we watch, it seems a happy couple lying in bed together,
preparing for lovemaking. To the trained eye, however, they are Master and
slave. The trained eye notices the angry red trails fingers leave on skin. The
way the girl shifts almost immediately to allow the man better access to her
nether regions. The mask of pain tormenting her soft features. The soft, almost
inaudible whimpers trapped deep in her throat. And the whispered words of
degradation soft and forceful in her ear.


Though they are worlds apart, theyâ??re fluent in each otherâ??s
language. He is Master and she is slave. He speaks and she obeys. And the
fucking that ensues, not lovemaking, leaves her sore in the morning.


I used to think that love was measured by roses and love
letters. That kisses and tender stroking was the only way to show affection. That
the things I did to my own body behind closed doors were twisted and sick and
would never be understood by anyone.


I still think the things I enjoy having done to myself and the
things I would like to have done to me are twisted and sick. That turns me on
more than I can explain. But I no longer believe that love is measured by
roses. Or kisses. Or hugs.


Itâ??s the tone in His voice. The look in His eye. His
willingness to control. To lead. His absolute demand that I follow. Obey. His
trust. Trust that when itâ??s all over Iâ??ll still be there, kneeling before Him,
begging Him to do more. Whether or not I can take more. Just to please Him. His
enjoyment in fulfilling my desires when they fulfill His own.


He makes me lick Him as a cat would lick her kitten. When He
fucks me, it often brings puppy-like whimpers to my lips. I am His little slave
beast. His animal. His toy. His pet. His plaything.


I am not a princess. I have no desire to be revered. If I
serve Him well, I am treated well so long as He wishes it. If not, Iâ??m lucky to
be treated like a dog. Usually, I donâ??t even get that respect.


I knowâ?¦ I repeat myself a lot. You have no idea how much
elation and wonder is in these words. Or maybe you do. Maybe youâ??re
experiencing it yourself.


I live for Him. I would die for Him. And he would command
either of me at His least whim.


To be owned so completelyâ?¦ I never thought it possible.


He rips confessions from me that I used to hide even from
myself. Fantasies. Experiences. Desires. Interests. Beliefs. When I can ignore
the fear of grossing Him out, killing His interest entirely, I spout such
things those who know me would never expect. No one truly knows me except for
Him.


And last night, without being ordered, I licked and kissed
His feet. Without being ordered, I licked His legs the way a dog laps at its
ownerâ??s hand. These are things Iâ??ve done in the past, but rarely. Fear ofâ?¦
somethingâ?¦ always stops me. Fear of something always stops me from doing
everything I want to do. I can never put that something into words. I canâ??t
properly describe it. And I wonderâ?¦ if I canâ??t describe it, does that make it
an invalid fear?


I want to be passed these obstacles. I want the fears to
stop getting in the way of my service. I wonderâ?¦ can I do that without being
able to pinpoint what it is exactly that Iâ??m afraid of?


Master said yesterday, â??You didnâ??t bargain for this. This
wasnâ??t what you wanted.â?


This is what I wanted. It wasnâ??t what I expected. I expected
yet another man too weak to take his rightful place in my life. I expected
another man who said he was interested in owning me, beating me, feeding my
depravities through feeding his own, but who really was too chicken shit to
tell me he thought I was completely out of my mind. Irrevocably sick and
twisted. A man who thought I was kidding when I said he owned me.


I got everything I bargained for and more. My life is going
exactly where I want it to. I canâ??t wait to see where it leads.


And my pussy's sore from the fucking we did yesterday and in the wee hours of the morning!

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