Sick Of The Psychos

John returned home this noon, and as he had commanded, I was on my knees in our hall, wearing nothing but suspenders, stockings and my leather collar with the heart on it. Hoping to be taken, of course. When he came in, he said nothing. Just put his luggage down, hung up his jacket and passed me to enter the kitchen. I heard him drinking water, checking the mail I had put on his square of the table, then he made his way to his office, starting his computer, listening to the calls on the answering machine. Then I heard him going upstairs, obviously taking a shower. I asked myself whether I should get up, take care for the luggage, do whatever.

When he returned, he went into the kitchen again, and I could hear him putting on water, then putting it off again. I asked myself how long I had already knelt there, when he finally returned to me. He stepped behind me, still saying nothing. Then, finally: “I had almost forgotten what a cheap whore you are”. Thank you, Sir. He laughed, left again. I got a stiffy and my elbows began to hurt on the tiles. I could hear him rustling about in his carry-on luggage, then he returned. I felt more than I saw that he clung something onto my collar. I knew what it was when he pulled and I was torn forwards. A lead. He clicked his tongue, just like people do to make their animals follow. I did, and he lead me all the way through our kitchen, back to the hall and further on to the living room. He seated himself nice and cozy, fixing the lead by stepping onto it, so that I had to put my one cheek on the floor.

After a while and with my neck beginning to sting, he put his other foot with his shoe still on upon me, rubbing me with the sole. I got even harder, losing precum on the carpet. I dared to begin “Sir…”, but got kicked immediately. “Shut up!”. I did, feeling my cunt throb. I don’t know how long he made me rest in this position, by his feet, humiliated, fixed, horny, but after a while he just pulled me near with the lead, pressing my head against the boner in his trousers. I could smell him, so manly. Wanted to take him, serve, suck, whatever. He still had the lead in his fist, but began petting my face and head with his other hand.

“Have you been a good girl?” I have. “No wanking?” No, Sir. “No cumming?” Of course not, Sir. He laughed again. “What about self-injury, whore?” No, Sir, but that was hard. “I know…I know”. Silence for a minute, just his hands and the lead and my throbbing cunt. “Guess you could use a nice cock, huh?” Yes, Sir. He laughed again. “You’re not getting any, dumb cunt. No, not for you…not today”. I felt my heart leaving out a beat. “You’re desperate, hm?” Yes, Sir. He pulled me up, it was hard to follow that movement. Suddenly his face, very close to mine. His breath. And his lips, oh, these lips… Just a tender kiss on my cheek, a tender kiss on the corner of my mouth. “No relief for that cock slut here”. When he saw my reaction, he laughed. He pulled me even closer, whispering to my ear: “Do your chores. Take care for the luggage, get me something to eat. Later, you can sit at my feet and tonight…guess what? You’re sleeping on the floor, just like a dumb dog whore should. Happy with that?”

I was not. I hated it. I had wished for so much, had craved kisses, a hard spaking and a much harder fuck. I was dared to say “But Dad…” to break the spell, to make him take care for me. I know he would have done that. It was my choice. Was I to enter this game or was I out? Not being fucked and sleeping on the floor was not what I had wished for, but obviously my Dom thought it was a good idea. Did I trust him enough to allow this to happen? I could have used the safeword either. That would have ended it all, I would have been released, I would have gotten up, kissed him, been talking to him, just like my husband had just come home from a week abroad, and enjoying all his nearness and tenderness.

I tell you what. I just nodded my head and said thank you like a well-behaved slut would. I unpacked his bags, I made dinner for him and was rewarded with some dry cookies, later on I licked his shoes clean and got pissed in my mouth. Now I’m sitting here blogging and when I have finished, I will go upstairs where my Dom is already in our marriage bed, watching T.V., and I will find me a piece of hopefully not so hard floor to rest on. Perhaps I’m glad and he throws me a pillow and a blanket, but I would not count on that.

Why? Because I trust my Master, and because I feel like this treatment is exactly what I needed the whole week through. Better than self-injury, because it just cuts deeper, yet turns me on unbelievably. Because I know sooner or later he will fuck the brains out of me, and that our foreplay begun when he made that call. Because I am his slut, his Pferdchen, all his. Maybe I’m dumb to let myself be treated that disrespectful, but I need this. So. Desperately.

On The Phone

Got a call from Master yesterday evening. He just murmured “listen closely!”. I was confused, but I did. Obviously, he had his fun with another guy and made me listen to them for almost two hours. After they had seperated, there was his voice again, satisfied, sweet as honey, sharp like a knife. He questioned me about my feelings. Was I aroused? Hell, yes. Was I jealous? Yes. He laughed mildly. “And guess what’s the best part?” I don’t know. “Kein Zuckerchen für Dich, Schlampe.”

I told him I love him and that I miss him, and he reminded me of my task neither to make me cum nor to hurt myself. I find that’s a tall order. I’m so horny, yet angry with myself. Craving him, craving his cock, his cum, craving to be humiliated and used. It’s hard to think of ways to relieve the horniness and the anger. Wanking would be good. Hurting would be good. Running can’t do it…

When he’ll return on Friday, I’ll be on my knees in the hall, begging to serve and to be owned again. I really hope tomorrow will pass without another call of that kind.


Yesterday, John went off to Mallorca, for a week of playing golf and spending some time with “the boys” he went to university with. He left me here with a list of things to do (and not to do…like jerking off). When he’s away, I feel strange in my skin, in his house and in my whole life. I miss him so much as he is the beacon in my life, but moreover I’m jealous concerning all the time he will spend with his old friends and yes, concerning the “cute Spanish boys” he will fuck. If he will, I don’t know.

The past two weeks have been very busy in the café. We had some changes in the staff and I have problems adjusting. My boss asked me if I want to work two hours more per week (which then would be 8 instead of 6 hours), and I talked it over with my therapist, because my first reaction was putting my head in the sand and freezing. Well, to put it short, I will not work more, as me and my therapist both think that I’m not capable of it. Currently I’m in an unstable mindset and more work would mean less time for myself and more contact to others which frightens me. And that again makes me feel like a wimp and a loser.

After I made that decision (which my therapist calls selfcare instead of cowardice), I had a hard time not injuring myself. I felt so much anger, I did not know how to cope with, so that John took command. Oh, and how he did. I always tend to think I’m used to pain and degradation, but I always underestimate his creativity. So, I found myself naked with just my collar on in our backyard where the two apple trees had let go of their apples which had turned into a fermented, smelly, sticky mass on the gras. He made me wallow in that mass, watching and mocking me and asking me “why do you deserve that, tell me!”. Yeah, why? I guess because I’m a worthloss fuck toy, right? Right. Having his heel in my neck, rotting apples up my mouth and nose and getting pissed on put me right where I belong. I felt so humiliated, so dirty and reminded of what my father did, I had to cry. Usually, John takes care for me in those moments, but not this time. He sharply told me to shut up and endure. I felt so helpless, but thought that he was just right, letting me behave like the dumb pig I am. I hated myself so much in that moment that I just wanted him to inflict as much pain and degradation as possible, and later on, he did. Had to spend the night in our cellar, smelly and sticky like I was, because he said he sure would not have such a bitch around. When he picked me up the next morning, I was stiff and had cried it all out. He put me in the warm tub, scrubbed me clean and then made me crawl up inside his arm. How can it be that he’s the only one to know what I need? Sometimes I think only he can give me what all therapists have tried to give me…

Before he went off, he told me not to injure myself. I know he has to trust me there, as there are so many ways to hurt oneself without leaving marks. I will really try my best to stick to his rules. I know I always feel better when I trust his cures. But at the moment, my self-disgust is so hard to cope with. I know it’s just a phase, it will pass. But when it’s there, I feel like dying would be ways too nice for me. Sigh.

Got ‘Em

Yesterday, I had my nails done and just wanted to leave a quick note before rushing into the weekend. It took about forever (2 hrs!) to have them done, but I enjoyed the whole process, although it felt a bit weird to be the center of attention. The nail artist was very kind. She had helped me with my first and very clumsy attempt to put on nails by myself and I guess going through that together somehow made us feel a bit familiar with each other LOL Anyway, she was very interested in why I wanted my nails done and why I have not been there in a dress this time. Uhm. Probably it was the first time I tried to explain what it is about Ginny and Blaubeermann. She was very open about it and I felt comfortable. At least she told me she works for quite a lot of shemales and transgender, so that it was not really embarrassing.

I have chosen a clear, but slightly pink nail polish, but I have to admit that once having crossed that border, I was considering a really pink nail polish with glitter in it LOL It was good to hear her say that the nails somehow fit me as I really do not have especially manly hands, you know, I’m quite petite, at least for a man.

John and I met for lunch afterwards and I was excited to find out how he likes the nails, and it turned out that he was quite turned on by them. But as he had to go back to work, I went home alone, dressed up and when he returned home, well, you guess what.

Today, I’ve been especially nervous about going to work. My boss just grinned when she saw the nails, and my so-workers did either not see them or were okay with them. I guess I have baffled some customers LOL

As the nails are quite short (only slightly longer than I use to wear mine), it’s uncomplicated to do my chores with them on, but the nail artist suggested I might wear rubber gloves when doing the dishes and mob.

Everytime I look at my hands, I really admire the nails and the feeling they give me. It seems like I’m more aware of every gesture and movement and I feel gladly gurlish and somehow glam. This evening I will find out how my family thinks about them and I’m nervous about it. Since our last argument, my brother said he stopped reading here because it annoys him regularly, so that I suppose he does not know about the nails yet. I’ll see, but I’m prepared for not the most positive reaction.

I’m Getting The Nails Done And W Is To Blame :)

This week, my best friend W returned from his holidays at home in the U.S. and today we met for lunch and a long chat :) I have missed him very much and there seemed so much to have happened since the last time we spoke to each other. Apart from John, he’s the one who understands me best (and knows me best as well) and I’m always keen to hear his opinions about things that bother me.

So today, after he burst out in laughter about this artificial nail adventure, we talked about my wish to become more gurlish, without giving up who I am. Actually, Blaubeermann and Ginny/Gina seem to mingle more and more, and I begin to understand that this “girly” part of me had always been there and actually is a very important part of my gay identity. I always knew I was different from the others and when I fell in love with a classmate and we had finally sex with each other, I knew I was feeling like the “girl”. Just without the urge to actually be a girl, physically. I wanted to be the “weak”, the “beautiful”, the “receiving”. I put that into quotation marks, because I feel it’s just a prejudice that women are weaker, drawn to beauty and considered the receiving part in a heterosexual relationship, but anyway. For me, it made and still makes sense. When I thought of myself in the far future, I did not see a man’s man, you know, like being the feeder of the family, telling others what to do or things like that. When I managed to see myself in the far future anyway, I saw myself as the “wife” of a (how I’d call it today) dominant man.

It’s a bit sad, but having had this close yet very painful relation to my father, I did not dare to show how girly I really felt. I knew that if I’d be more than just a toy, a stone or another lifeless thing, things would have gotten worse. There were times when I was convinced I’m in love with my father and that finally some day he would stop hurting me, when he’d see how much I strive to be a good boy/fuck toy, but I have never dared to behave girly or even gurlish.

When John and I met, it was clear from the beginning on, that I’m the serving, submissive part. Not long after we began playing chess in the café, he told me that he’d like to be served (although I presume he referred to tea and snacks at that point of time LOL). And yeah, I liked it, and I liked that thought of him as a hard-working man coming to me to get appreciated, even admired, served and taken care for. So, it all began to develop quite naturally. It was me to do the cooking and the dishes afterwards, to take care for his pleasure and convenience. He went and still goes to spas, sauna and massages regularly, and he encouraged me to take are of myself, too. I began using hair conditioner for example and tried to look the best I could for him. When we met, I still used to hurt myself regularly, but it wasn’t long until he told me that I am his and that he’d regard it as disobeience if I’d damage his property. Maybe it’s a bit weird, but starting to see myself as his property actually helped cutting down on injuring myself, and the pauses between each attack grew longer. Concerning what I did during our holidays, I’d say, it still isn’t over, but the pauses keep on getting longer.

When he came up with the wish (not sure whether it was really that innocent…) I should weare a lace panty, it seemed like relief, although I was scared and nervous about it. It turned me on, but it did more. And so, developing a more gurlish attitude was an evolution, not a real decision. I don’t even see myself as swishy, but somehow just like John’s wife/gurl/girl/slut/whore/Pferdchen/Schlampe. I just like him telling me over and over again “Du bist MEINE Schlampe” (you are MY slut), as it includes so much more than just sexual/kinky stuff. It says “you are mine and I’ll be your guard, but don’t you dare not taking good care of yourself”. I guess being his slut helps me coping with self-hatred and self-injury, with being abused and PTSD in general. Being his slut makes me accept my weird cravings and our kind of relationship more, as I don’t really seem to have a choice, as a slutty person, right? At least, that’s what I want to believe to make it all fit into my believes ;)

So, why am I writing all this down? Because W has convinced me to give artificial nails a go and live out my gurlish side even more. He said, at least anyone knows I’m gurlish, because I did not really manage to hide it like I thought I would LOL I’ll just try natural looking nails, just a little longer than I wear mine and only with a soft colour, if anyway. The artist said, I could remove the nails bathing them in a certain lotion (ace-I-dunno), so if it really goes wrong and I feel bad about them, I’ll just get rid of them. And, as W put out, I work in a space where a lot of handicaped/injured/really not normal people work, so that artificial nails might be the last thing to worry about LOL

Oh gosh, I’m nervous, but tomorrow will be the day. Wish me luck :)

Pride Flag

Mo has come up with the idea of creating one’s own pride flag. I thought I just might state my thoughts (if that’s okay).

I have never had anything with a rainbow on it to showcase I’m gay, although I am completely open about being gay. On the other hand, I too have never had anything to showcase I’m into BDSM (or masochistic/submissive, to be more precise) and I even find it strange to wear certain bracelets when visiting BDSM- or gay-clubs.

So I guess for me, it all boils down to the question whether or not I am proud of being gay (or having whatever sexual preferences). To be honest, being proud of my sexual/romantic orientation feels a bit odd, as I have not chosen to be gay or submissive. It was no decision I made and it sure was no achievement. It just happened to be like this and I feel there’s not much more to it.

On the other hand, I am well aware of the fact that being gay (or lets put it that way: not being heterosexual) and having sexual/romantic cravings which are a bit…remote…is understood to be of political interest. When gay men started fighting for their rights in the late 1960’s and the early 1970’s, it was thought that the private was political as well (as far as I remember, this slogan arose from the feminist movements, but that’s not my cup of tea). To keep that movement running, it was neccessary that gay men came out of their closet, and it sure was not as “normal” as it is today, due to §175, which said that whatever sexual intercourse between two males was sodomy and therefore banned. Lesbians have never been criminalized by the law in Germany, by the way, so the gay and the lesbian movements did not really collaborate for quite a long time.

I guess we owe those men who came out as gay though there was §175 still existing a lot, and I feel like today not coming out and not being proud of being gay is a bit outlawed. But nevertheless, I always think it’s odd that so many people are interested in who is gay (especially concerning celebrities and soccer-players), just to claim “well, that’s perfectly normal!”, after one has come out and therefore to prove it’s not! LOL! Just imagine some guy telling you he has fallen in love with a girl and your reaction would be: “wow, so you’re heterosexual? Congrats, dude, that’s awesome…but perfectly normal! Don’t worry about it! But…who’s…you know….the receiving part in your relationship?” LOL!!!

So, I guess being gay is not as normal as it should be and I understand that there is still the need for gay men coming out and showcasing being gay. Hopefully one day, being gay might be regarded as normal as it actually is. But to be honest, I myself do not want to be one of them. I’m not involved in the gay movement, I do not join CSD events and I do not talk to younger gay men about having safer sex or whatever. I myself am not especially proud of being gay, but on the other hand, I do not hide it. Well, or to be more precise: I just hide it if John wants me to. He’s out to most people, but there are occasions in which it is wiser for him to appear as straight, so that I back off a bit. I don’t want to explain that any further, you just have to trust me ;)

And last but not least I have isues with being proud of myself. Most times I see myself as a weak person who has not achieved anything. That’s okay somehow, but I regard a proud flag for myself as futile.

I hope my thoughts do not offend anyone.