letch-lucre:dumbbigtittedslut: As I go further into my degradation, I wonder where it will end. Pos

letch-lucre:

dumbbigtittedslut:

As I go further into my degradation, I wonder where it will end. Posting a photo of my obscured face and breasts to the Internet was a thrilling experience at first… But the more often I post pictures, the more normal and less thrilling the experience becomes. My pussy still gets drenched when I post something, but unless it’s totally humiliating, I don’t get the same rush.

I am desensitizing myself. The thrills have to be better, more demeaning, more humiliating, more public, more destructive for me to get the same rush. Like a heroin addict, I crave more. I need it. I don’t know if this is good or bad.

I asked Husband what photo he wanted me to post for our 2,200 mark. When he picked this one, I was very resistant. Primarily because this photo is, so far, the clearest and most identifiable photo of me. It’s also easily the most humiliating.

Husband knows me better than I do. I didn’t want to post it, even tried to argue him out of it. But now that we’re here, I’m experiencing that rush again. If someone sees my face in public, they’ll see block letters spelling out “cum slut”.
They’ll see a man’s hand on the back of my head.
They’ll see the look of complete submission in my eyes, even if it’s not there in the moment.

I’ve talked about it a few times, and here it is. This is a photo from the first time Husband ever wrote on me.

There are three things I’d like to point out about this photo:

My pigtails. Something about turning my long, pretty brown hair into handles for face fucking turns me into a particularly obedient little slut. I feel dumber with them in, and when I feel dumber, I am far more compliant.

How red my face is. There is a direct correlation between my embarrassment and my wetness. If my face is this red, my cunt is pink and soaked. (The first few photos of me with face writing had a different feel to them. The camera was eye level, and while my gaze was not defiant, it wasn’t quite as vapid. They had a good feel to them- the juxtaposition between the writing on my face and my calm expression was arousing. But Husband shifted the camera above me, put his hand on the back of my head and tilted my gaze upwards. I took on the look of his simpering play thing… I could feel the difference between these photos and the previous ones without even seeing them. I began to blush, and he snapped his camera.)

My left eye. If you’ll notice, it’s more red and slightly more closed than my right. When I get cum in my eye, it is painful and red for up to two hours afterward. (I feel particularly stupid and slutty when this happens, especially because, no matter how hard I try, I can’t keep the affected eye as open as the other, which gives me a particularly dumb, lopsided expression. The stinging pain also reminds me that my face was recently used as a cum rag.) My red eye was a product of a facial I had already received and cleaned off myself about an hour before this photo.

I believe in honesty. Maybe that’s why I feel compelled to do this. I’m both blackmailing and humbling myself by being honest; by saying, “this is what I want.”

This is what I think of late at night, or by myself, or in a quiet moment in public.

Humiliation.

Wow. Nothing more to say.

Except maybe, “Good girl”.

Do this to me. But mine should be a permanent tattoo