(This entry is partially in response to what an incredibly tough and profound weekend I had with Master and partially in response to the anonymous person who posted the ever-dreaded “WHY???” question. It’s disjointed, jumbled and all over the board because quite simply, that’s how I feel. Nobody ever said this was easy.)
“Jump” my friend says to me. She’s right. I’m clinging by my fingernails to the last of my self.
I can’t jump. I’m too afraid of not being caught. Of bouncing off the floor in a thousand shattered pieces. Is this what I asked for? Honestly?
“Bite your fucking tongue girl!”
The pictures start off so innocently… at some point, the camera is set aside and forgotten. The world is set aside and forgotten.
That’s my world.
What happened to the hot, horny, writhing mass of hormonal masochistic need? Where did the girl who used to race to the toy box, all giggles and un-ending sexual desire go?
What the fuck did You do with her?
What the fuck did You do to me?
Where did this sobbing, messy, whining, begging, slobbering bundle of fear come from? Was it in there, this whole time… and You’ve opened it up and let it out? Or have You taken that simple and easy pain-slut and twisted and warped it into this monstrosity?
And this appeals to You? Snot dripping off my chin, urine squirting down my leg, drool dribbling between my breasts… so buried in pathetic emotional garbage that I can’t even breathe…this makes Your cock hard?
No, not the physical sight. I don’t believe that. That’s hard to look at, and impossible to be aroused by. So what is it then? The naked fear in my eyes? The raw need in my voice? Does the power rush come during the swing or after my cry?
You are such a fucking sadist. Push and push and push. Relentless. Untouchable. Grab ahold of my fear and squeeze it… drain it of it’s juices… hold the mutilated mess of myself in front of my eyes, make me see it… feel it… rub my nose in it… and then slam it back down my throat.
I don’t understand what makes You tick. But worse than that, I no longer understand what makes ME tick.
What makes me follow You into the room, with fear so hot and heavy in my gut I can feel it trying to escape through my crotch? Have I ever told You how my heart stops for a split second when You click the lock shut on the door? What makes me willingly hold my wrists out to be cuffed while tears begin to pool in my eyes… why do I arch my back and thrust my breasts out when You stand there with clamps in Your hand? Why do I lovingly pull Your cock in between my teeth and caress it with my tongue, open my throat for You to impale and balance on the edge of suffocation while You swing over and over again at my back and ass, slap my face and rip at my hair? How am I able to lay back and spread my legs for You… and feel like I am drowning in painful need and simultaneously soaring above any feeling or thought? Why does my cunt clench and drip around Your cock as You whisper what a filthy whore I am in my ear? Where does the whisper of Your breath, the slippery velvet of Your cock, the race of gooseflesh across my skin start and end?
That’s my world.
I don’t understand it and someone wants me to explain it? That’s almost laughable. Every day is a struggle, every day is a triumph.
The goal… cunt-in-a-cage. No thoughts, no emotions, no nothing. Nothing more than available.
I am His. His object, His toy. His it. We’re almost there and it scares the fucking hell out of me.