“We are torn between a craving to know and the despair of having known.”

The night before last, I was really, really horny. We’ve been fucking like bunnies (still “making up” you know. ;) ) and the more sex I have, the more sex I want. Master was plum-tuckered out, already lying in bed with his eyelids all droopy, looking all kinds of sexy and pouty, naked and yummy.

I stripped and lay down next to him, placing his hand on top of my freshly shaved-smooth, warm, wet pussy. He grinned sleepily at me. Encouraged, I began to stroke his cock, coaxing it awake. Though his cock responded, stiffening and lengthening in my hand and seemingly ready to fuck, Master claimed the rest of his body was just too tired.

But he was still smiling at me, still giving me reason to hope, so I hopped up onto all fours, my face at his feet, and wagged my ass at him. This may come as a shock but it’s difficult for me to be that blatantly slutty and desperate to fuck. I tend to let him make the first move and not push for getting it if he isn’t raring to go. But he’s mentioned that he’d like me to take the initiative more, to act more like a slut.

So I did, and though he took that opportunity to spank the bloody hell out of my upturned ass (hand spankings just plain hurt, that’s all there is to it), he didn’t hop up to fuck me. That’s a hard one for the bottoms (I think anyway). Just how far is too far to ask for, or entice, him into fucking. It starts to feel too pushy in a big, fat hurry. I think had I continued trying to arouse him, he’d have fucked me upside down and sideways, no matter how tired he was. But I stopped and curled up next to him, where he was asleep in about 20 seconds flat.

But then yesterday, when he got home from work, he was barely in the door, I hadn’t even said hello to him, and he had his cock pulled out of his jeans and was shoving it into my mouth. “I’ve had that picture of you on your hands and knees, waving that ass around, in my head all damn day, cunt. I’m gonna tear your shit up.”

He did too. Fucked me like a two-dollar whore. On my knees, face on the mattress, one of his feet planted against my cheek, pinning my head down. He’d put the nasty black clamps on my nipples, and he yanked back on the chain of the clamps, holding it against my leg so that I had no choice but to stay curled back, trying to keep my nipples as close to my knees as possible lest they be shredded. He took me hard, used me, and fuckin’ hell did it feel good.

It was less than an hour later that he pushed me under the desk and took me again. It was all I could do to keep my head out of the wall and my face from getting carpet burn as he pummeled me from behind. Above my head I could hear the muffled sound of other girls moans through the computer speakers as he browsed his porn collection. I’ve long since stopped getting my feelings hurt when he uses me as his silent, invisible fucktoy while he gets off on watching those size 2 blonde bombshells getting fucked on the screen. In fact these days, I get off on it. I get off on being treated as such and I enjoy hearing the noises, the slaps and smacks, the grunts and groans of other peoples actions, while I’m required to be so passively still, a living, breathing blow up doll.

I’m still horny as all fuck, but now on top of horny is a big ol’ craving for tears and pain, blood and agony. Wanting to get to the place. You know the one. The one that disturbs me as much as it excites me, that pulls me as deeply as it frightens me. Where pain and pleasure are not one and the same, are not working together, it’s all pain all the time, because the pain is the only thing that *gets* you there.

That place. Soon, I hope.

~cunt

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