Break Your Whore

By now I have earned my horsey back, but not the rest.

Last weekend John brought me to a public dogging spot. He had told me about it the whole week and because I was denied for quite a while now (and had to wear the plug one week almost 24/7) I had hopes that he might allow me to get raped. When we arrived there were only four or five guys and I started to suck them, just like John told me. I was still locked into the device (Holytrainer), but I wished to desperately to be fucked that I asked him again and again, but he told me and the guys that no, I was not to be fucked into my cunt, but only in the face. And he kept word. I sucked a lot of dicks and swallowed it all, but I remained unfucked and therefore so horny that I was frustrated all the time. So many cocks around me and than that…

John took a lot of photographs from me and published some of them so that others can take a look at me when they’re wanking. After all were pleased, he drove me home and told me to watch me in the bathroom mirror for a while. My make up was ruined, I had spit in the face and in my hair, spunk as well. He came to me, talked to me. He told me to lift my skirt and reveal my caged clit, my ridicolous “manhood”, my scars, my tighs, my belly. He told me to lift my top as well and look at my not existent titties, the desperate look in my eyes, the unfulfilled lust. I was trembling because  usually I avoid looking at me too close, but he told me to linger, to really look at myself. I was surprised when I realized that I liked what I saw. I felt sympathy for the slut in the mirror, for her scars and I respected her inferiority. Looking back, I think I might have seen what he might see in me.

Afterwards, he told me to shower and then come to him. When I did, he scrolled through the photographs he had taken, and he began wanking. He didn’t deny me when I sucked him, finally. I love it when he stays in control when others use me. He’s like a sponge. He looks at me, his whore, and it’s like he’d take photos with his eyes, just for his private use, and once we’re alone and I’m out of the spotlight, he can relax and use me, while remembering all the things other men just did to me. He likes me well used. And finally he fucked me in the cunt I had stretched for him one week. I still had the device on, but I came, thankfully. When my body decides that it doesn’t need any clit stimulation to come, I’m feeling that’s the biggest gift I could offer.

Since then he has taken off the device once every day and stroked my clit like about 10 minutes, and without the attempt to make me cum. It’s just that he tells me “I want to stroke you….down there, honey…on your nasty spot…”and that makes me melt. I can’t help but keep wishing it had always been him, from the beginning on. If love had been a part of my training, what a better whore I would be today.


Earning It Back

To earn my pendant with that horsey back, I have agreed to do the following:

  • one week fully plugged, going for 24/7
  • during this week I’ll pump my titties each day for 30 minutes (2×15)  minimum
  • no masturbation at all, just T&D
  • no blowjobs, no sex at all

The week started last Tuesday, so today is only day 2. And I had not taken into account that wearing a plug this long is not only kinky af, but it also leaves my asscunt raw due to the friction. Ouchi. I had also not thought of how annoying Yoga would be this way. John smiled at me mildly when I told him and said that only proved once again that I’m no good in thinking. Literally he said “there’s a reason why you sell vegetables, Honey” 🙂


Today I was on the phone when John started masturbating in front of me. I wanted to suck him, but he denied me. After a short while he came right into my face, while I was still on the phone, then rubbed hisself clean with my hair. I didn’t clean myself, because I liked it. Later, when I was preparing dinner, I still had his spunk in my face, like a total whore.

Today I got nothing more than this.


Home Alone and Unfucked

I can’t recall how often I’ve had this now: me at home, doing chores, and Master somewhere out there, having fun with others. The decent stitch it gives me knowing that he prefers someone else to me will never get boring. I love being the denied housewife, not good enough for Master. I love how satisfied he looks when he comes home late at night, while I remain pitifully unfucked and desperately in heat. I love it when he tells me how cute the other one was and how well he made him cum, and that he had to struggle to keep hard when his thoughts touched me. I mean, knowing your husband prefers to fuck others would only be half as ticklish when he didn’t tell you right in the face what a pathetic cunt you are, wouldn’t it?

While he fucks others, I clean his house. While he fucks others, I press his shirts and trousers. While he fucks other, I put up fresh towels in the bathroom, so that he can take a shower, when he comes home.

Do I hope to get back one of my treasures? Surely not. Not for such normal duties.



Taken Away

Talking back is connected with punishment, each and every time. So when I talked back yesterday evening, John told me to hand him out three things I love above all: my Pandora bracelet, my little horse pendant and my collar. He said I could earn them back over time, but this won’t be easy. So at the moment I’m hanging on, waiting for the punishment to begin.


Too Extreme?

Today, when you read about “slaves”, this most times refers to people who need this denomination to turn them on. That’s totally fine for me, but it’s utterly awkward when those people are judging 24/7-relationships as either fake or “too extreme”. I mean, there is no such thing as sympathy or solidarity among people from different ranges in the BDSM-movement nowadays, and regarding the bullshit I have heard in the past years I don’t care about it anymore. People needing the label “slave” or “Master” to get hard won’t be able to understand what I mean when I talk about being owned.

For me personally being a slave to my Master can’t be anything less than a life-long devotion, because otherwise it would just be a kind of game (which might be fine for others, but not for me). To be honest, if today it would still be legal to have slaves, I’d be pleased to give my civil rights away to be fully enslaved. It would be my dream to be completely dependend from my Master, even more than I am now. It would be an honour to hand over all my rights to him, to work for him, to be used in each and every way he wanted to, to earn money for him in whatever way he decided and, finally, sacrifice my life for him. I would do that immediately.

It is not that I didn’t have a proper opinion about things or that I’m not capable of working for me and takiing the responsibility for me, it’s just that I have always dreamed about being fully owned, even being kept like lifestock with no rights. I’m most happy when I’m owned and told what to do. I love being property, being used, being trained, denied and “abused”. Why? Of course because of what my father did.

Today I want to look at what he did as an early started training and not as abuse, though I know what he did was wrong. It’s just that I can choose to lament about that forever or own it and make the best out of it. It gets me wet to think of myself as a well-trained whore, a life-long slave. And it shatters my soul to think of myself as a victim. Nobody wants to be a victim. So being a slave for a reliable Master is a very good thing.

I’m pretty aware of the fact that what I make out of this is twisted and “insane” for normal people, but let me tell you, what he put me through was insane. I consider it to be very healthy to find a way to cope with that shit. So when normal people who call themselves “slaves” just because they like to sound slutty tell me I’m too extreme, it just makes me laugh. Yeah, you know, my whole life is extreme, so why not? Most real slaves went through hell and found peace in being a slave.


Maybe Some Light At The End Of The Tunnel

For some years now I’ve been happy with the Birdlock, but this month I got my first Holy Trainer. I had several reasons for this decision. First of all, my clit has shrunk a lot in the past two years, since I wore the device for really long periods of time. Even more since I’m able to experience Sissygasms and don’t “have to” take it off to release pressure on my prostate. Second, because the Birdlock was too big now, I was able to masturbate with the device still on, which made it quite useless. Third, I had read some reports of other users about the Holy Trainer and because all of them were contented, I thought I wanted to try it as well.

The Holy Trainer comes with an integrated lock so that additional locks are unneccessary. This means you don’t have to deal with bulks from the lock anymore. For me, the more decent device is quite alright, though I don’t mind people seeing that I’m in chastity. Moreover, I liked heartshaped locks or locks made of plastic for one use only. It gave me the feeling of being owned. The material is a natural kind of resin which responds to warmth. It feels super smooth in everyday usage, but you should not squeeze it once it has gotten really warm. The best thing about the Holy Trainer is, in my opinion, that it prevents masturbating really well.

I had several Birdlocks, for example a clear one and one with spikes. Now I have a pink Holy Trainer, which gives me a new feeling. Of course it’s more feminine, but I can’t see my clit through it. And that’s really weird, like not having one. I know that sounds stupid, but not really being able to see my clit sometimes make me fear I could have lost it. And I love that! Especially because Master treats my clit like trash and keeps telling me I’d have a better life without it.

So, talking about amputation. I know very well that I don’t want to have a vagina, but it would be awesome if my clit would shrink so much that it would end up to be not more than a pea. Just like women have, I guess. I have seen ladyboys with ultrasmall clits about 1 or 2 cm, and I would totally love that, but they were on hormones since before their puberty, so I know I will never get there, so matter how much I wear devices. I could never shrink that much and would need operations for that. It would be nice to have the shaft and the balls removed and just the head left, but ways smaller than it is now.

My therapist did some research and told me that the wish to live as a male with female tits and a smooth area down there also counts as a disorder in transgender terms. Because he is no specialist in these terms, he has talked to a colleague and was able to make an appointment for me in February (yep, because I pay privately, otherwise I would have to wait until autumn). It’s quite a long trip there (2 hours by car), but on the phone he sounded nice and open-minded. I’m totally excited to talk to him, and John will come with me. My therapist told him that I suffer from PTSD due to severe abuse during more than 20 years and that it might be that I feel this way because of that, and he just answered: that maybe the case, but I have the right to speak up for myself and he is willing to listen to me. Can’t believe it. I try not to be too happy about it, because usually doctors just tell me that I should have more therapeutic sessions to get my depression, eating disorders and PTSD sorted out and take some more pills, but anyway. At the moment I can see some light. Let’s just hope that it’s not the freight train coming my way, right?