#name calling
Waking up with my pants already down and my man on top of me whispering into my ear, “you want my dick in your pussy, slut?” as he slides in.
That’s the best way to start my day.
My boy begged me to post these screenshots of what he’s paid me today and write about how pathetic he is. How could I not?
Of course, he only did this after writing me multiple stories about how desperate he is for his colleagues’ cocks. I responded to him and told him how much that turned me on, and he was so fucking desperate that he asked to pay me for the privilege of sending me a picture of his pathetic excuse for a cock. I let him, even though it’s really not worth looking at.
He also begged me to leave him a voicemail while he’s at this professional conference. He asked for one of me laughing at him, but then, when I asked if he wanted me to say other mean things, as well, he jumped at the chance. He’s so eager for any attention from me. Of course, he paid me $50 for this voicemail. Maybe I’ll leave it for him. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll make him pay me more.
Not only was he sending me these perverted messages while he was at a work conference, he got so turned on by me being mean to him and by paying me, that he had to go play with his dicklet in a public bathroom. What a fucking slut.
All of our exchanges became quite distracting, so I made him pay me and edge himself as punishment. He asked if there was any amount he could pay for the right to cum at the end. I told him there was not. Of course there wasn’t. It was a punishment. If I barely let him cum when we’re together having fun, I’m certainly not going to let him cum from a punishment edging.
I teased him throughout the day, including making random requests for money. I told him to say something humiliating in the message. I suppose “I’m a useless dirty whore and a Capitalist pig” is humiliating enough. It’s also just true.
Oh, and throughout all of this, including in the stories about his classmates, he kept talking about how he wanted to get pissed on. By the two men he’s staying with, and by me. What a filthy, disgusting little pervert.
Well, up until this line, this was at 375 words. Let’s make it an even 400 words and an even $100. How’s that, pay pig?
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When Reaction Junkie and I reached the party, he suggested we go up to a private room. I was a little unsure, but I decided to go along with it. We went upstairs and picked a room. Reaction Junkie unzipped his bag and began showing off his handcuffs. He’s a bit of a fan. (That’s an understatement. He almost always has like 5 or more sets of cuffs in his kink bag, even if he’s just going to happy hour. And of course, I have to carry the damn thing.) He showed me how to use a couple sets and I set to work putting them on him.
I secured his hands behind his back and cuffed his ankles together. Then I started hitting him a bit. Not very hard, but hard enough. As we played, we chatted. I don’t remember much of what was said, although I’m sure the regular conversation was intermixed with me saying condescending and/or insulting things to Reaction Junkie. I told him I wasn’t sure about having sex, but noted that, I really should since he is a man, after all. At the time, MLAM and I were playing with a fairly intense and all-encompassing context of fucking with my feminism/consensual misogyny, which meant I was supposed to offer myself to any and all men for their pleasure and entertainment.
I also informed Reaction Junkie that he couldn’t give me permission to get off, though, since he was choosing to let me dominate him, thus forfeiting the control over my orgasms he would otherwise have as a man. I enjoyed saying that to him, even if it meant I wasn’t going to get off. At his request, I uncuffed his hands and recuffed them in front of him. I straddled Reaction Junkie and started grinding against him. I continued messing with him, and I was really getting into it.
I told Reaction Junkie to say nice things about me, and he immediately started complimenting me. He said wonderful things about parts of my body, my personality, my intellect, etc. I loved it. I should make him do that sort of thing more often. I uncuffed his hands and he started using them on me. He’s got game in the “hand stuff” department, but I wasn’t quite getting there. I knew what I needed. I needed degradation, consensual misogyny, name-calling, and to feel subby. I felt a bit bad, but decided that it was best to just ask for what I wanted. I asked Reaction Junkie, “Would it ruin it for you if I asked you to say terrible things to me?” Without missing a beat, he slapped me across the face and said, “Shut up, whore.”*
I swooned. Reaction Junkie saw how positively I responded to his words and the slap. He took over and continued this treatment, degrading me and hurting me. I clearly remember thinking “What a clever boy” as he got a handle on the consensual misogyny quite quickly, calling me names, insulting women as a class, saying the kinds of terrible things that get me soaking wet. He hit me, hurt me, and choked me, treating me the way I crave being treated. His words and actions combined to put me in a lovely little subby headspace. When he started playing with my cunt again, I got into it, gasping and moaning. Reaction Junkie said, “Oh? Can I give you permission now?”, calling back to when I told him he couldn’t give me permission to orgasm because he hadn’t been taking his rightful place over me. He continued using his hands on me as I whimpered that of course he could give me permission. He continued rubbing my clit and fucking my cunt with his fingers, gave me permission, and managed to get me close to orgasm.**
By this point, I was both super turned on and super into Reaction Junkie. I said*** that we could have piv sex (whether by saying “Fuck me!” or asking more demurely, I can’t recall), and he took me up on that offer. I grabbed one of the condoms supplied by the space, gave it to Reaction Junkie, and he fucked me. Now, I had mentioned to him earlier that I was into forced impregnation/nonconsensual unprotected sex fantasies. Not one to let a chance to press someone’s buttons pass him by, after he came, Reaction Junkie leaned close and whispered into my ear, “Our baby is going to be beautiful.”
We chatted while we cleaned up the room, and then sat on a nearby couch for a while to cuddle and talk more. Eventually, we went off to do our own thing with other people at the party. Whenever we ran into each other, Reaction Junkie took a dominant attitude with the way he spoke and acted towards me. I had already been hoping to see more of him because of the fun we’d had the previous night, but seeing him in that new light made me even more eager to spend time with him. At one point, he even threatened to choke me out. Then, as I was leaving, I went over to him and was delighted when he grabbed my hair firmly to say goodbye. I smiled to myself as I walked to my car and drove home.
The next day, I texted him, “I had a great time last night! It hurts when I press on my sternum, which is the best. We should definitely hang out again sometime soon.” He responded, “I had a fantastic time too. Glad you enjoyed yourself. Let me know when you want to get together again soon.” “Soon” turned out to be the following Wednesday. And then again the very day I got back from my San Francisco/Colorado trip. We started to see each other most days out of the week. That became spending most nights together. Before I knew it, I had fallen for him, and he had fallen for me.
*Reaction Junkie likes to say this is when I fell in love with him. That’s not actually true. But it did flip a switch in the way I thought about him. I decided, “I need to spend a lot more time with this guy.”
**Reaction Junkie thinks I did get off, although my notes on the night say I got close. Either way, I know I was impressed with his hand stuff game.
***To be honest, I actually can’t remember who offered/suggested the piv sex. Either way, the important point is that I was more than ready to have him fuck me.
Especially when it’s cute.
Cuddle me tight, kiss my forehead, and call me your dumb little cocksocket. Call me that in the same tone you would call someone “love” or some other cute nickname.If I’m taking a bath come in to talk about my day and casually unzip your fly and piss in my bathwater, without changing tone.
When I’m making dinner shove a barely lubed plug up my ass while kissing my neck and asking what we’re having.
Make my degradation so casual and part of every day that it becomes a language of love, that without it I worry you’re mad at me.
I love these kinds of things. Making degradation just part of our relationship, part of my life. These little things let me know you’re thinking of me, that you care.
I would love having any and all of these things happen. In fact, Reaction Junkie has done most of them. Opening the shower door to piss on me. Calling me names like slut or bitch in heat or dog or stupid cunt or any other cute little pet names.
I’m so damn lucky. The Anarchist Economist likes such delightful name calling. My phone has learned the word “cuck” (kept trying to correct to “fuck”) and the phrase “petit-bourgeois individualist.”
Daily Picture Assignment #41
While I haven’t been keeping up with these pictures as well as I should be, I have been very good about something else. In another DPA I decided to change my workplace pissing habits. Previously I didn’t have to ask Reaction Junkie for permission to pee while at work. Now I do. Each time I need to piss, I have to text him to ask, “May I please pee?”
For practicality’s sake, if he doesn’t respond to my text within half an hour, I’m allowed to go, but there’s still a challenge there. I don’t want to ask permission before I actually really do need to pee. That defeats the purpose. But I also need to ask early enough that if he doesn’t respond, I can wait the half hour. It’s a delightful balancing act that leaves me desperate, wiggling, shifting uncomfortably, and trying to distract myself so I can hold it for the next five, ten, or twenty minutes.
Sometimes he responds unexpectedly fast. In those cases, I try to finish however much water I have left in my huge one litre Camelbak and wait until the need to pee is more urgent before I get up and head to the bathroom, to sort of make up for the fact that I got permission earlier than absolutely necessary. When I told Reaction Junkie about that, he said, “Good girl,” and it made my pussy twitch. I’m not sure I’ve been doing it every single time he’s responded more quickly than I thought he would, but I’m certainly going to do so now.
Of course, he doesn’t always just say “Yes” when I ask if I may pee. As Reaction Junkie said to me, if he said yes every time, “it would become perfunctory." Sometimes he tells me "No,” but more often he tells me at what time I’m allowed to piss. Late last week, for example, I texted him at 12:11 asking for permission. A minute later he texted back, “1230, slut.” I gasped and moaned a little at my desk, even more turned on than usual by the addition of degradation and name calling to the bladder control and desperation.
Sometimes when he gives me a time at which I’m allowed to go, he also offers me an alternative, some task to perform or action to take. If I choose to do it (If he’s given me a choice. Once in a while it’s a condition of being allowed to pee, no other option.), I’m may piss as soon as I’ve done so. Occasionally it’s something terribly embarrassing, like asking my boss for permission to go to the bathroom. Once I had to do 25 squats while pressing on my bladder. More recently, he’s started using his control over my bladder to get me to do things he wants me to do or that I need to do, such as text a friend to set up a time to hang out, or send an email I’ve been putting off.
When he denies my request, makes me wait until later, calls me names, or makes me beg, my cunt clenches and my head buzzes a little with subspacey delight. Using his control over me to make me do things I’ve been procrastinating on or I’m hesitant to do in order to earn the right to piss is a perfect way for him to reinforce his orders. It helps me learn my place and teaches me to do as he says, even at other times, as I become conditioned to obey him.
I love that we’re doing this additional bladder control and desperation. As I go about my day, I’m mindful of the fact that I have to ask him if I may piss. Because of this, I have to actively think about my place in our relationship whenever I need to use the bathroom, whenever I drink my water, whenever I refill the bottle, whenever I go into a meeting. It’s a constant reminder that he has such ownership and control over me that even my most basic bodily functions are subject to his will. It’s impossible to forget that, even for a moment.
Reaction Junkie owns me, I have submitted to him, and I have given up power over myself to him. He has complete control over me everywhere, even at work. This was all true before, but now I am consciously aware of it throughout the entire workday.
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when i call myself a hoe
when someone else calls me a hoe
As much as I sometimes get embarrassed about having gotten so fat this quickly it really turns me on seeing how I’ve outgrown my older clothes. Used to wear size men’s 36s but now in 44s that are growing tight.
The idea of going out wearing some of them to a buffet or fast food place with my flab bulging out over the waistband and out from under my shirt, buttons and seems straining, turns me on a lot especially the thought of people noticing and talking about me, calling me names.
Obviously not a practical fantasy to do for real but I can make do with wearing ridiculously tight clothes under something baggier to have the same feeling to a degree.
Of all the depraved, dirty, and disgusting names I call girls, ‘Whore’ is the one that can stick in the throat.
It’s not that I dislike the word; far from it. I enjoy it’s close phonetic relation to ‘hole’, with the added attraction of the delicious curves of a ‘w’ to prefix it. There’s also the connotations, the allure of the working girl life, tied into the mild humiliation aspect that working girls are as close as you can come to consensual non-consent. They don’t want to fuck these men, not sexually, at least. And there’s an attraction in that.
No, the problem for me is merely that it’s factually incorrect. Whoever I’m saying it to isn’t a whore, and, at least for as long as I’m interested in them, won’t be. It seems like an odd problem to have, because they’re unlikely to be sexually promiscuous enough to be a slut, and I’d rather hope they don’t have the personality of a bitch or a cunt.
However, those terms are colloquial at best, their definitions subjective and ambiguous. One person’s slut is another’s prude, and I’m sure almost every girl has been called a bitch at some point in their lives, just as men can encounter bastard or wanker, (so long as you’re in England. I’d imagine the American equivalents would be asshole and douche, but that might be just an ill-informed impression from television).
Whore is a different story, for the most part. Instead, this is a clear definition; it might well be a somewhat ‘unprofessional’ term for the profession, but it’s a clear one. A whore is someone who accepts money in return for providing sex.
And yet I still use it. Why? Because using an incorrect definition for a word is the only way you’re going to change it. I like whore. I want to reclaim it for my own. I want a definition that isn’t hoarded by the working girl, the prostitute, the harlot. I want to be able to use it incorrectly, precisely, and have it have the power of slut and bitch and cunt.
C
It’s hard to look at my wife with her beautiful growing belly and not want to force myself into her sleeping body.
Actually, never mind…
Itmakes me hard looking at my wife with her beautiful growing belly just waiting for me to force myself into her sleeping body. -H
I woke up with him inside me. I’ve gotten used to him doing this so a lot of times I don’t even wake up now or I just close my eyes and wait until he’s done before I go back to sleep. It doesn’t affect him anyway. Since my stomach is getting bigger it’s more jarring for me and I can’t stay comfortable so I wake up easily.
Once he saw my eyes open he called me a “whore” then turned me around. I love when he called me names. I stayed quiet on my elbows and knees with my head down while he did his work in my pussy. Once he came and pulled out of me he went to sleep and I laid there rubbing his cum on my clit until I finish and went back to sleep myself.-W
