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.


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