Poor Gurl

I think the main difference between me and John is, apart from the more obvious things, that he has a good self-confidence and that he trusts in life and people. My self-confidence is nearly not existant and I don’t really trust life or people. Often I even bring myself into risky situations and extradite myself to others. That’s stupid, but I do, and it turns me on.

I feel like John often gets what he wants because he induces he can’t be denied. He’s kind and cute and people like to deliver what he ordered. Obeying him feels natural and well, so people love to obey him. Me, too, of course. But anyway, I haven’t stop wondering about how he is able to get a table in a completely booked out restaurant or how he gets people to do exactly what he wants even if they uttered they would NEVER do such things just one minute ago. I think dominance and superiority are all natural things, and so is submission and inferiority. Nothing to be ashamed of, as we all didn’t create ourselves. Maybe it’s in the genes or our experiences made us who we are, I don’t know.

Concerning myself, not being able to fulfill his wishes makes me feel sad and disappointed by myself. He doesn’t even have to say anything, one look is enough or, worst of all, that sad, knowing smile that tells me “I know you’ve done your best, darling, but you failed..what a pity…I would have loved to be proud of you, but I can cope with getting diappointed…..again….”. Ugh! Nothing in this world makes me feels more useless and ashamed.

It was exactly that look I got when we were out on Saturday night. After one week of pure chastity and a lot of T&D I was so ready for whatever he had in mind for me. When we had breakfast, he told me that in the evening we would be going out and that he wanted me to dress up like the cheapest whore I could think of, which immediately got me wet and made my clit itchy. He didn’t want to say more and I was so aroused ad excited.

At about 10 p.m. I was ready. I had put on awfully much make up. In the past months, I have learned what distinguishes a normal from a slutty make up. It’s all about the mass of make up and the colours you use. A little camouflage with a little powder, mascara and lip gloss make a nice young lady out of me, and a lot of all of that with a lot of eye shade and a screaming red or pink lipstick make a whore out of me. Moreover, it makes me feel like a whore, too. I had put on thongs, a bra (but no fake boobies), a girdle with stockings, an ultra short pink skirt and a sort of net shirt in screaming pink. When John saw me, he burst out in laughter and made some pictures of me, which immediately made me feel humiliated and even more horny.

When we went over into the garage, he told me to get inside the trunk, because he’d feel ashamed if someone saw him with that ugly slut I was. I haven’t been in the trunk for an eternity now and I felt absolutely uncomfortable and was afraid. Did that matter? Not at all. He hit me in the face and repeated his command, so I did as I was told. Thankfully, he had lined the trunk with a blanket. When he closed it, I felt fear rushing through my body, but  told myself to keep still. In an emergency, I’d have had my cellphone with me. I took it out and turned it on every now and then to have some light and calm down a bit. In those moments before the storm I need to tell myself that I trust him with my life and that he has never disappointed me…

After about 45 minutes we came to a halt and he opened the trunk to tell me to sit next to him. I did and we went on. I took his hand and squeezed his fingers a bit, observing his beloved face and seeing that certain mild smile on his lips. I felt the urge to tell him that I love him and he told me that he loves me, too. Not long until we reached our destination, a dark parking lot, a known dogging point. It’s been a while since we last went dogging and I was nervous.

What shall I tell of the following two hours? I was being used like I haven’t been in a long time. I tried to keep some dignity, but not fortoo long. There’s a point when something inside myself tells me to just let it happen and embrace the fact I’m a slut. I can’t prevent that little voice inside my head from questioning my sanity, but being violently fucked and used feels better. Obviously my vicious Master had arranged with them to call me names and degrade me to the max, especially because of being a sissy and being in chastity. I was sore, yet unfulfilled when they were done with me. John pulled my hair to look me in the face and there it was, this knowing, sad little smile that said “look at you, young lady, you’re nothing but a cheap cum whore”. He took some pictures of me, being covered in cum, having cried tears during deepthroating and having a ruined cunt and a wet little clit. Ugh.

He offered me a small bottle of water, then maneuvered me into the trunk again, not having touched me hisself. I was sore, tired, horny. When I thought “I am helplessly regressed”, I immediately thought “and I like it”…am I a bad person? Probably, but in those moments I just don’t care.

When we were back home, Master brought me to the kitchen and made me stand straight for a while. Obviously, he was hungry, and I was lucky enough to get some bites as well. “You look disgusting”, he said, and I thanked him. “Did you like that?” I said yes. It was the truth and I knew he knew. “Did your clit like that?” It did. He began wandering around me, touching me here and there, making remarks about my looks and how I smelled. He opened the fridge and took something out, but I couldn’t see what it was. He returned with one of my lipsticks. I use to keep them in the fridge, so that they don’t melt in summer. Master painted my lips and my cheeks red and chuckled. I knew I was looking silly as fuck and that made my slit itch again. I didn’t expect that wasabi paste that he suddenly had in his hand. It was in the fridge, too, and then it was underneath my eyes and my nose. I began crying and drooling in an instance, while he sat down, watching me and laughing, telling me how ugly and pathetic I was. The pain was brutal. I wanted to wipe that wasabi away, but I knew I was not allowed to, so I endured, until it got better. I don’t know how long that needed, but that was really bad.

Again he came over to me, made pictures and showed them to me. “Look at yourself, slut. Tell me, what do you see?” I told him: nothing but a fuck toy, a cheap whore, trash. He suddenly began touching my clit through the cage. I moaned, begged for more. He teased me until I lost precum again. “I bet you’d like to cum, hu?” Yes, Sir, please… He went on and I could feel my clit growing and the cage being to small. Master grabbed my balls, squeezed them, pulled them, implied he might open the Birdlock and reward me for being such a dutiful slut. Just when I believed him and thought he’d really let me have a reward, he laughed and hit me hard in the balls. “Don’t be silly, idiot”.

And that was it. He left me standing there, with no instructions, with all my hopes unfulfilled, with my clit throbbing and my face ruined. After some minutes I could hear him taking a shower, but I didn’t dare to move. After what I thought were 30 minutes I called for him, but he didn’t answer. After another what I thought to be 10 minutes, I finally decided to go upstairs and ask him if I could shower and eat something and get to sleep. He was already asleep when I entered the bedroom, so I ate and washed, then lay down next to him. I couldn’t help but crying. But that was O.K.

Yesterday, he didn’t say anything about it, just looked at me that certain, knowing way, like he was telling me “I know what you are”. Of course he does. I tried to disctract myself from my horniness by cleaning the windows, but that didn’t really help. In the afternoon, John told me he’d be off, to the club. I asked something like “whatwhycanicomewithyoupleeeasssse?”, but he just chuckled bemused and told me that he needed a good fuck and that after what he saw me doing the evening before he sure wouldn’t fuck my dirty holes or allow my dirty mouth around his cock. Then he was gone and I felt so ashamed, yet horny, that I didn’t know what to do but cry again. Ugh. A while later, he sent me a picture to my cellphone with him fucking a young stud. I was jealous, though I knew I had much more cocks in the past weeks than he had holes…When he returned in the evening, he was relaxed and vibrantly good-humoured.

I am still denied, which is painful. It always is. My brain is like a child’s brain and always wants what it is not allowed. If Master would forbid me oats, I probably would die for that oats, right? The worst thing is being kept chaste and being denied his cock. I manage to get a certain satisfaction by pleasing him, but being kept from that kind of pleasure makes me weepy. Oh what a poor gurl I am😀

 

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