His Bitch

If the last weekend made one thing clear, than that you can do most anything in public without anyone even asking questions. That actually makes me feel a bit odd and even insecure about how it would be if I ever were in an emergency. But anyway.

Obviously my wailing finally got John mad on Friday evening. I was being pushy and kept asking when he’d allow me to cum again, until he said if I’d ask that one fucking more time, I’ll regret it. Because he said that in a sweet voice, I thought he was joking, and because I was a bit perky, I asked again. The reaction came immediately. He hit me in the face, grabbed my hair and forced me to my knees. How could I ever forget how strong he is? He forced me to look up at him, telling my in a harsh tone that he is fed up with me annoying him and that I should learn to control myself (well, actually that was the basic message, but I think he used to term “fucked up whore” several times, ahem). He then maneuvered me over to the couch and I hoped for a spanking, but all I got was to kneel beside his feet for the rest of the evening. When it was bedtime, I was announced that I’d sleep on the floor and that at 12 I’d be expected to be ready with slutty make up on, wearing slut-wear and my collar.

Well, while Master was already asleep, I lay on the floor with my heart still pounding. It’s been quite a while since my last severe punishment and I was a bit worried. As a matter of fact, I didn’t get much sleep, so when my clock rang at 10.30, I was still tired, but nevertheless excited. I shaved well under the shower and when John got up, I had my make up finished and was looking for the perfect thing to wear. I thought I’d wear opaque tights and a nice grey skirt and a white blouse, but John took out a very short pink skirt with a fitting shirt, see-through tights and not real high-heel shoes, but my equivalent to them out of my wardobe. You know, I adore high-heels, but I am not able to walk with them, so I have bought shoes with little heels, like perhaps 5 cms, but that’s enough for me! When I was dressed, he told me to put on shiny pink lipstick and when I finally took a look at myself, I thought, well, yes, a cheap whore. I prepared breakfast and while he ate at the table, I was told to have whatever standing. Ugh. Before we left the house, he put the lead to the collar and kept the other end in his hand. This way, we made it to the car.

I didn’t dare to ask where we were going, but after a while it got clear that he was heading to a city about one and a half hour away from home. He parked the car, came over and took me by the lead again. There were a lot of people, although less than I had feared, but I felt each and everyone looked at me. I guess over the years I have developed a certain kind of resilience concerning odd looks, but yesterday, I could feel them pierce me. It was the very first time he made me go out like that and it was embarrassing. He dragged me through the city until he had found what he was looking for: a hairdresser. I hate getting my hair cut. Like, I really hate it. I love my hair and always fear they might cut off too much. If Master wishes to really, really frighten me, he puts scissors to my head and tells me he’ll cut all off if I keep misbehaving. So, obviously he thought it was an appropriate punishment for me to get my hair cut yesterday. He instructed the hairdresser to cut off at least 25 cms. I began crying and asked him “please, don’t…please….”, but he just told me to shut up, smiled at the hairdresser and said “well, I think, 30 cms would be better”. Oh my gosh. It was clear that if I protested any longer, I would lose more hair, so I froze. The hairdresser said “but he…err…she….err (HA HA) doesn’t seem happy with that”, which John shot down with a kind smile and a simple “es spielt keine Rolle, was sie will” (it doesn’t matter what she wants). To put a long story short, I really lost 30 cms. And that was really demanding and painful. When she was finished, I considered taking my hair with me, but did not dare to ask. I guess I was far away from myself and I could not believe that this had really happened. I still can’t. You know, I still have long hair, but 30 cms is a damn lot. Sorry for cursing.

I asked myself, why would he do that? But the answer is obvious: to put me back where I belong. To teach me he is in charge and I am just a toy, a worthless cunt he can tread as he wishes to. What really puzzled me was the weak reaction by the hairdresser. I think I’d have expected more resistance to cut my hair as I obviously didn’t want that to happen, but apparently a self-reliant apparence is enough. Well.

When we were finished, he dragged me through the city again, this time into a quieter area where we sat down in a café, he for a coffee, me for a glass of tap water. No treads for sluts, right? But anyway, sitting there helped calming down a bit, and he was very nice, telling me he liked my new hair and petting my face like I was a kid or a bit backward. Ugh. After he was finished, he maneuvered me further, led me down a stair. And all with the collar and the lead still on! He made me kneel on the pavement and put his cock right into my mouth. I tried to say something and got hit in the face for that. “Eat it!” I did. I could hear traffic and people up the stairs, but nobody came down. He deepthroated me until I spit myself and had tears in my eyes, then he rubbed his wet cock through my face and smeared my make up. “You look just like what you are”, he told me, and I believed him. After he had cum on my shirt and had taken some photographs with his cellphone, I was allowed to get up. I felt weak and shaky. He wanted to drag me back into the city, but I resisted.

I know he knew that was the crucial moment of that day. I was about to use our “stop it all immediately” safeword (with is Van Gogh, by the way). I felt so humiliated and wortless, I was overwhelmed. I thought it’s one thing to be a slut at home, you know, with the two of us attending. But that was too much…wasn’t it? We could meet someone we know. We could be discovered and reported. It could become very nasty and beyond kinkiness. And moreover, I felt hurt and used, really worthless and embarrassed. On the other hand, there was this throbbing stiffy in my pants and I wished for nothing more but to lose control and get fucked and fucked and fucked. And…well, I kept thinking “oh Gott, ist das geil” (oh God, that’s horny, and I thought that in German, which was odd as well). It’s always the same question: do I trust him enough to do let this happen? I could feel the ring on my finger and I could see his on the hand he held the lead with. Did I trust him? I did. And I knew he knew what had just passed my mind.

He led me back into the city, right into a big store. In Germany, we have a clothes chain store with an impressive department for women’s undies, and that was our goal. He dragged me through the aisles, handed me this and that to try it on. An assistant came over and asked whether she could help us, obviously a bit alert by my face and the lead. I thought, that’s it, they’ll ask us to go. But I was wrong. John was so very charming, she helped him with finding what he was looking for, all in approximately the right size for his “girlfriend”. To tell the truth, it’s not only odd, but moreover perplexing to witness what he’s doing to manipulate people. He’s so sweet and self-reliable that people can’t do other but do what he wants, and I keep asking myself ever since how much he manipulates me, but do I want to know? I’m not sure about that. Anyway, he had me trying everything on with the collar and the lead only a bit annoying, and finally decided to buy what I’d call a chemise, you know, the sexy and a bit too short version of a nightdress. It’s black with an included bra and a lot of see-through lace. My silicone tits are actually too big for it, but if I wear a bra under it, it’s ok with my tiny naturals. Additionally, he bought me self-adherent tights and what John calls a Schlampenhöschen (slut’s panty). While I was changing, he felt me up. As I have written before, for month now I have trained my tits and they got really sensitive and I’m to be aroused easily if he plays with them. So once again, I got a stiffy, but he just ignored it.

After shopping, John was hungry, and led me to a nice restaurant where we had something to eat. Again, people looked at us, but none of them reacted in any way, not even the waiter. And again that made me feel uncomfortable. All in all I don’t like things to get too publicly. It’s OK to have sex outdoors with the possibility to get seen, but I prefer keeping things between the two of us. It made me feel at unease to be watched and I felt insecure. John could feel it and took hold of my hand for quite a long time, telling my that I’m a good gurl. Sigh.

After that, we went back to the car, and John allowed me to take a rest. I snuggled up inside his arm and was even able to take a 20 minute nap, which I rarely ever can! Afterwards, he face-fucked me, but just a little. It was already dark when he drove us to a gay club, more in the near of where we live. We’ve been there many times before and over the time, we have come to know some of the guys attending, and they of course know us. They know we’re having a 24/7 BDSM relationship and that I’m often kept chaste and that apparently I’m into being a gurl. Attending that club is always a bit like coming home, you know, I feel comfortable there. First, we had a shower (me sparing face and head), then we changed. I dressed up with the new things and I liked how slutty that made me feel.

When we entered the playground area, there were several men I already have had sex with, and obviously they liked what they saw. John told me to go over and “say hello”…well, I did, but I couldn’t make much words before my mouth was full. What followed was delirium fucking. I wasn’t able to count, to speak or to think. That was just COCK and CUM, until I felt like I had taken drugs. I had craved for that for a long time now and it was satisfying beyond words. And the best thing: I was able to cum without clit stimulation!

To be honest, the rest of the night is quite blurred. Somehow I was brought home and into my bed, still covered in cum and fucked empty yet happy as fuck😀 It’s been a while since I’ve slept that well and when I woke up, it was Sunday morning. I would have liked to take a shower, but John said we’d be going for a walk and I’d be wearing my slutty outfit again. To be a long story short, he took me to a rather public place and fucked me there, you know, not on the pavement but quite in the near of it.

When we were home again, he finally let me take a shower and even came with me to wash me. It was then, I had my tender Sweetheart back with me, exhausted, used and so happy. He asked me how I felt about it, like being used like a whore, or even worse. I answered spontaneously and said I liked it, but over the day, I needed to talk about several aspects. When he went to bed, he kissed me and asked me in German: “Bist du meine Schlampe”? (are you my bitch?). I said a heartfelt YES I AM. To be honest, I would have liked it to be paid for that. But now off for bed, I’m still a bit exhausted🙂

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