#owned little feminist bitch

I just got off the phone with Reaction Junkie. As the conversation ended, he told me that he was going to put a craigslist ad up for no strings attached sex and post my address. Then he paused and said, “Actually, I’m going to put up a no strings rape fantasy ad.” He continued, saying that he would post the ad with a photoshopped picture of me holding a sign that said “I’m [LFB] and I fully consent to this.” and that the ad would tell men to just climb up to my third floor apartment, come in, and fuck me no matter what I said. Then he added, “Leave your balcony door unlocked the next few nights.”

As he talked, I got more and more turned on. My cunt twitched and my head went fuzzy with arousal and subby feelings as I thought about someone coming into my apartment to fuck me even as I fought back, screamed, and tried to get away. And it would all be at Reaction Junkie’s behest. The uncertainty about how serious he was only made everything that much more intense.

I asked in a little voice, “You wouldn’t really do that, would you?” His response was to laugh in amusement and say, “Just try me.” I let out a sound halfway between a moan and a whimper and felt my cunt clench in response. My mind was buzzing softly. I was incredibly turned on and half in subspace. Reaction Junkie chuckled and said, “That was a great noise,” and I breathlessly  told him that his response was the correct one. It was perfect.

He wasn’t done, yet. He told me, “When they come in, you have to lope up to them on your hands and knees.” He told me I was to wag my tail and to do so while “panting and smiling.” Then he mused, “I wonder if they’ll be into petplay or if they’ll just fuck your face for showing your mouth to them?” By now, my hand was in my panties and I was rubbing my clit, gasping and moaning as he spoke.

I could all but hear his grin when he said, “You better hope it’s me who comes through that door.” He told me I could get off  after I do some work. I told him that I would definitely do that while fantasizing about the things he’d just said to me. When he said, “I’ll look forward to reading your tumblr post,” I laughed and told him, “I was just composing it in my mind.” We said goodbye and got off the phone.

Just writing about this has me turned on and subby again. I’m hot and wet and horny. I love how wonderfully he pushes my buttons. Rape fantasies, uncertainty, degrading petplay, ordering me around, fucking with my mind. Leaving me not knowing what or if he’ll post online, but enjoying the back and forth in my mind about it. I don’t want to know. He’ll do what he wants and I’ll accept it. He owns me.  I’m his property, his pet, his toy. I’m whatever he wants me to be. Anything he chooses to do to me is a thing I want done to me. I’ll be home the next three nights, alone and with the balcony door unlocked.

Last night on Skype, Reaction Junkie asked me how hard it is for me to carry on conversation when I have something in my holes. Thinking that he wanted me to fuck myself with a dildo while we talked, I thought back to all the times I’d Skyped with The Super Sadist and Marxman while fucking myself. I told him that having something in me wasn’t very distracting.

“Good,” he said. Then he asked, “How long can you wear a plug for? Can you wear a buttplug for eight hours?” I hemmed and hawed until he finally said, “Can. You. Wear. A. Plug. For. Eight. Hours?” “Yes, dear,” I responded, looking down. He smiled at me and informed me, “You’ll be wearing your plug for eight hours at work tomorrow.”

I was happy to do so, and said that it might even be helpful, since I’m seeing Legolas today and plan to be prepared for anal. Reaction Junkie thought for a moment and said, “Well, maybe you should have something in your cunt, too.” I wasn’t sure and said, “I don’t know if I have anything that will stay in.” “That depends how tight your underwear is, doesn’t it?” he responded. I agreed, and he informed me that I would keep my small dildo in my pussy during work, and when I leave for happy hour tonight, I’m to switch it to a larger one.

I smiled, despite knowing it could get uncomfortable. He hasn’t given me many, if any orders like this, that last for an extended time and provide a constant reminder of my place, and I really enjoy them. I lovelovelove our switchy dynamic, and wouldn’t change it. However, it does lend itself to a reduction in the time I spend feeling properly subby, since I feel as though I could take control at any moment. Of course, realistically I know that he owns me, that he’s in charge, that he enjoys bottoming and the feel of submitting so he allows me to play at that role, but I don’t always feel that truth on a deeper level. Sometimes I miss falling into submission like I used to, that heady feeling of being controlled, the fuzzy warmth of being owned.

With this instruction, to have two of my holes filled all day, I can feel a bit of that old subby headspace coming back, especially as I write this. It’s intoxicating and makes me want to think more subby thoughts. I want to be obedient and fulfill the orders given to me. The large dildo may be uncomfortable, but I’m not going to ask for him to change his orders. I risk public humiliation if someone notices or if the dildo slips out. That doesn’t matter. I’m going to do what he told me to do. Because I don’t have a choice. When he says to do something, I do it. Property doesn’t get to refuse, doesn’t get to haggle or negotiate.

So, I’m going to sit all day at my desk, my cunt soaked from being filled. Not only from that, of course, I’m also wet from the knowledge that two of my holes are stuffed at the direction of my owner and that I’m willing to obey him at all times, even at work. And I’m happy to do it. I’m grateful that he is willing to spend the time and attention on me to give an order like this. I’m glad for the reminder of my real place as owned property.

I can pretend to be an independent person. Can say that I have my own job, my own apartment, my own life. But coming to work with a dildo in my cunt and a plug in my ass proves that in actuality, I’m an obedient, eager to please, desperate girl who craves giving up that independence in order to submit and be controlled. To give up ownership of myself to be owned by someone else.

subbieblackgrl:

I love when I’m referred to in the possessive form.

I like when he says, “You’re mine,” or “I want my girl,” or “What’s my slut up to today?”

I love feeling like I *belong* to him. I get the most amazing subbie girl rush.

This is one of my favorite things to be called. Better than “Slut.” Better than “Cunt.” I’d say it’s even better than “Good girl.”

Being reminded that I belong to the person using the word “mine,” that I’m owned by him, that I’m here for his pleasure and entertainment, and, most of all, that he wants me. The warm, happy, subby buzz I get in my head is an amazing feeling.

Last night I shaved my legs,pits, and pubic hair (see links for pictures). I hadn’t shaved my legs and pits in half a decade, and I hadn’t shaved my pubic hair in more than a year and a half. I loved not shaving. I loved feeling the wind in my leg hair. I loved surprising people with the fact that I didn’t shave my pits. I loved feeling like I was still a little bit radical.I loved having hair on my cunt, because it helped weed out douchebags, I liked the way it looked, I enjoyed not having to deal with the shaving, and because it helps reduce infections. I’d even started pulling on my pubic hair while I masturbated, after MLAM did that to me a few times.

I didn’t shave because my feelings about my body hair changed. I did it because my owner told me to. I’m visiting him at the end of this week, and he finally gave me the order I’d been expecting for a while. He instructed me to shave, telling me to take before and after pictures for this tumblr, to explain that he is taking away my “stupid little feminist hissy fit shit.”  I used to say that I wouldn’t shave for any man because I liked having the body hair and if some guy didn’t like it, tough. My owner tolerated that for a while, but planted the idea of making me shave in my mind, fucking with my feminist beliefs, making me wet thinking about him making me do that for him. 

He’s let me keep my hair for a long time, longer than many owners would indulge a little feminist bitch like me. Let me hold on to this idea that I’m a strong, independent woman who can make decisions about her own body. We both know now that’s not true. I’m a toy for him to play with, including deciding how I will keep my body hair.

Having to do this was not unexpected, but it was a big deal to me. Not shaving may seem like a passive thing, since shaving is an action one chooses to take. But in this society, women are expected to shave, and I’ve gotten more than a couple of people online tell me I was gross or unattractive because I don’t shave. I was actively, and aggressively, deciding to not shave. It became part of my identity. 

And now it’s gone. My owner has control over my past, present, and future, and can fuck with them however he likes. He decides what aspects of my identity I get to keep, and what aspects I have to get rid of.

I haven’t been feeling very owned lately, so I’ve been disobeying Reaction Junkie more frequently, often forgetting my role and refusing to do what he tells me to, resisting his commands, and complaining about his orders. We’ve both been super busy and stressed preparing for our move this coming Saturday, so hasn’t had any extra time or energy to invest in our d/s dynamic to make me feel owned, and I haven’t had the resources to put in the extra time and energy I’d need to keep myself in line better and remind myself that he owns me. He told me that after we move, he’ll be able to work on the d/s with me more, and I know I’ll be better able to remind myself of my place, especially if he sets up some reoccurring tasks, assignments, and rules.

In the meantime, he did add a couple of things. In addition to having to get on my knees and help him take his shoes off when we get in the door, now every morning I have to crawl and bring him his shoes to put on. Also, on Saturday, while we were packing, he told me that for the rest of the day, I couldn’t just call to him from another room, asking for permission to pee. Instead, I had to come over to him each time so he could test how badly I had to go by pressing on my bladder. I’m going to keep doing that, both at home and while we’re out, even though he said it was for just that day.

Finally, I now have to post at least one picture a day on tumblr. It can’t be the same thing everyday. Some days a body shot, some days a tit pic, some days a cunt picture, some days a close up of a bruise, etc. And underneath the picture, I need to write something that will help me remember that he owns me, that I owe him my obedience, that I’m his to use as he will, that he has control over me, that I should happily do what he tells me, and so on. I think the daily picture will be especially helpful to remind me that I am an owned little feminist bitch.

As I was getting ready to Skype with MLAM today, I was looking at what I was wearing. It was a shirt from Sexual Assault Prevention Week at my undergrad, and on the front it says “If you see something, say something.” It’s just a unisex tshirt I was wearing to put together a couch. Not attractive. Normally I would have taken it off and been naked, or put on something cute. But that shirt reminded me of another one I have, from a different Sexual Assault Prevention Week.

That one says “Consent is Sexy” and I thought “Oh. I’ll put that on. I bet he’ll like it and/or make a comment about it and that will be fun.” Again I underestimate him. He knew I’d worn it for a reason. He informed me that I’m going to cut it up and make it into a sexier cut, a croptop, a shirt with a racerback, something much more attractive than a blah unisex cut. In addition to that, I’m going to cut fabric above the word “Consent” into the letters “NON,” so that the shirt will read “Nonconsent is sexy." 

I told him that I wanted to say no (but of course wouldn’t and lol who cares if I do, I have to do it anyway), because the shirt is a memento of my time in undergrad. He smiled and said "I know. I like fucking with your past, too.” Excellent point, sir. He owns me. That means he owns my past, he owns my present, and he owns my future.

Part 1

Just as quickly as the knife had become the focus of my attention, it was gone. My trials and tribulations were far from over, however, and Reaction Junkie began to use his hands. He started hurting me, hitting my tits and my stomach with open and closed fists, making me breathe heavily and gasp with the impacts. Still blindfolded, I was taken off guard when the first slap hit my face. Then there was another, and another. These were hard slaps, and as I yelped, he told me to be brave and take them, making it clear that he’d read the post I wrote about wanting face marks. Everything I said in the post is true, but imagining how painful and difficult it would be to handle enough impact to get a mark, and thinking that he meant to leave one on me during that very scene was enough to freak me out. My whimpering intensified. Then, suddenly, bright light hit my eyes, making me squeeze them shut. There were tears in the corners of my eyes from being poked with the knife and from the face slapping. I peered out from half-lidded eyes and saw Reaction Junkie’s grinning face. I grinned right back, and he leaned down for a kiss.

The blindfold now gone, the scene continued. Reaction Junkie began smacking my outer right thigh, warming it up. Then he began punching it increasingly hard. What had been controlled movement on my part turned into writhing, and then thrashing. Grabbing my leg, Reaction Junkie held me down and still and began elbowing me. The first time he did it, I was unprepared for how much it would hurt, and I cried out in surprise and pain. He repeated the action, kneeling next to me and dropping his elbow into my thigh, putting some of his weight behind it. I felt a deep pain each time, like he was hurting me all the way to the bone. I started whimpering, and felt the tears starting. Reaction Junkie made fun of me, asking, “Are you going to cry like a little cunt?” I nodded, and began crying. Just like a little cunt.

I took as much of the elbowing as I could, but after only a few impacts like that, I felt like I was going to break. “Yellow, ” I panted out. Reaction Junkie just looked at my frightened face and pointedly ignored my request to dial things back. He slammed his elbow into me again, just as hard as before. As he set himself up to do it again, I started to breathe faster and faster, half-panicked at the thought that there was nothing I could do to stop him. I watched him dropping his weight into me again, his elbow landing hard, and groaned loudly in response, the tears rolling down my face. He hit me again, and then again. Finally, he decided to stop. It wasn’t anything to do with me wanting him to, of course, but because he felt like it.

Just because he stopped hurting me that way in that location didn’t mean he was stopping altogether. He straddled my legs, sitting on them. That put weight on my now battered thigh, making me grit my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut from the pain. He started slapping my tits and my face. I struggled, but my arms were bound and now my legs were held in place, so it was even more futile than usual. When he paused for a moment, I realized that my thumb felt numb. Not an emergency, but also not something I care to experience for longer than necessary. I opened my eyes and asked Reaction Junkie if the rope could come off. He sat me up and obliged me, wanting his toy to be fully functional. By the time he finished untying me, my thumb was back to normal.

When the rope was off, Reaction Junkie allowed me a few moments to rest. He comforted me, telling me, “There, there. You’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you. It’s okay.” By the end of the night, those words would provide no solace. To the contrary, because of the way he was saying them, and because he would tell me such things in the midst of frightening me and hurting me, each time he said them, I became more and more certain that he would do the very things he was saying he wouldn’t. Promises not to hurt me meant pain was imminent, guarantees of safety meant certain danger. In my mind, reassurances turned upside down into threats. In fact, Reaction Junkie eventually had to switch to telling me “You’re not safe. I’m going to hurt you. You’re in mortal peril.” to convince me he meant me no harm. My mind was thoroughly and deliciously fucked.

When I stopped crying, Reaction Junkie resumed his lesson about what it means for him to own me. He made a comment about the horrible things he could do to me, and I replied that he probably shouldn’t do some of them there, at the playspace. He looked at me and, using that voice, he said, “I don’t think you understand how much power I have when it comes to you.” He reminded me that I’m his property, that no one else cares, and that he could kill me and no one would even notice until it was too late. Then he began to hurt my thigh again.

So, tonight I was supposed to have a date with Crayola, who likes giving out orgasms. It’s basically his thing. I was pretty excited, although there are some things about him that rub me the wrong way.

Then My Lord And Master* informed me that I won’t be having any more orgasms until he sees me, and no one is allowed in my panties except for him.

I talked to Crayola to tell him and, long story short, after hearing about just the orgasm thing, he was no longer interested in getting together today, and even seemed uncertain about getting together in the future. After talking with Legal Lolita about the whole thing, I’m actually okay with not playing with him in the future, for a couple reasons.

He asked if MLAM had known we were hanging out, and I said that yes, he did, and attempted to explain that, well, part of it was the fact that it might mess with one of my play relationships. That explanation made me feel embarrassed and a bit ashamed. I was revealing that no, this isn’t a game I’m playing. This is my reality. This man owns me. This man controls me.

(It makes me somewhat uncomfortable to involve other people in our dynamic, but, on the other hand, I have every right to say that I don’t want someone in my panties or touching me in ways that might make me cum. If I was super invested and interested in this person, I would likely have discussed it with MLAM more. If the level of bringing someone else into our dynamic had been higher, beyond me saying that I didn’t want to do certain activities, I also would have talked with him about it in terms of consent and the other person. I trust his judgement and his desire for me to thrive. I trust that he won’t interfere with relationships that are important to me, or mess with really good play partnerships with people I’m super compatible with, or who are friends as well as play partners. Obviously his decision is final, though. He owns me, which means he has the right to decide what I do, and with whom.)

*this nickname started as a joke, but now…

Saturday night, I went to a grand opening for a new play space. I picked up Reaction Junkie, Legal Lolita, and Repressed Boy and we headed to the play party. As we stood in line, we said hello to Legolas and talked. Finally, they opened the doors and we walked in. We explored the mostly empty space, poking around at different pieces of equipment, until Reaction Junkie looked at me and said, “You’re far too free. Let’s go fix that.”

We found a space and put down our stuff. Next thing I knew, I was against the wall, Reaction Junkie’s voice in my ear, asking me what a girl like me was doing dressed like that in a place like this. I whimpered in response, already starting the descent into a nice little headspace. He pulled out his knife and pressed it against my throat, saying “You’re going to do exactly what I say. Do you understand?” I said that I understood. He held the knife in front of my face and said, “Now you’ve seen this and you know I have it, so I can put it away and you’ll behave?” I nodded, and he stepped away, telling me to strip down to my panties. I hurried to comply, afraid of the consequences if I dawdled or acted silly.

Reaction Junkie came up behind me and tied a blindfold over my eyes. I’m very glad he did. Since we were in public, and especially because Legal Lolita was there, I would have had a larger part of myself than usual on the sidelines, observing, instead of being fully immersed in the scene and the headspace. Not to mention, being unable to see leaves me with a heightened uncertainty. Of course, the scene itself was making me uncertain. I had no idea what he had in mind, or even what he might do in a public space. At the beginning of the scene, I had been grinning and happily enjoying myself, but as it went on, the smile fell off my face, and the happy enjoyment shifted to fearful, pained, submissive enjoyment. It became an enjoyment of the reminder of my place, of his power, of his control, and the fact that this isn’t a game.

Once the blindfold was in place, he tied me with my arms behind my back. There would be no getting away, no fighting back. Not that I would try to do either. And not that it would even matter if I did try. He was in control of my mind, my body, and the entire situation. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground. He pushed the knife into me, and I felt the sharp tip digging into my flesh. As he pressed the tip into different parts of my torso, he mused aloud, “How much pressure do you think it would take to pierce your skin?” It was all I could do to keep my reactions to a mere tremble, trying hard not to move too much, not wanting to find the answer to that question by accident by shifting unexpectedly.

Reaction Junkie dragged the knife (Okay. I half believe he used the actual knife for all of this, but I also half believe he used parts of the knife besides the blade or something else for at least some of it but wasn’t and am still not sure and I don’t even want to know because I do like the uncertainty.) along my skin, pricking me with it. Sharp pokes like that tend to make me cry really easily, and I like to let people know, even people I know are okay or like crying, that I may cry soon, just in case they don’t feel like having me cry (yet). I told Reaction Junkie that if he poked me much more I might cry. He asked if I was okay with that. Normally, I’m fine with crying, but this would have been crying in a new place in front of people, so I told him “Let’s keep going, and if I cry, I’ll let you know if I need something else at that point.” He agreed and resumed menacing me.

He pressed the knife against my cheek and threatened to fluid bond me to it. As he pushed it into my skin, there were a couple points where I legitimately felt like it might cut me, or wondered if it was. I was strangely okay with that. I don’t like the idea of actually being cut, but if he wanted to do that, I would try my hardest to take it for him. At one point during the scene, Reaction Junkie said something along the lines of “Do you understand that you’re mine and I can do whatever I want to you and no one will do anything about it?” and when I started to say I understood, he asked if I understood it at an emotional level. I did understand, but not at that deeper level. Not until this scene.

Now I get what it means to say that he owns me. Obviously he can do whatever he wants to me. Not just because he’s physically stronger than I am. More than that, I’ll accept whatever he decides to do because all of me, and everything that is mine, is his. And no one is going to stop him because they would see that I want what is happening. Maybe I won’t want the particular thing at the particular moment. In a broader sense, though, I do want it because he decided to do it. My purpose is to take whatever he dishes out, and to give him whatever he desires. I want him to do anything and everything he wants to me, no matter my preferences.

This past week I fucked up quite a few times with orders and punishments from MLAM. When we talked yesterday (which made me feel better because he drove home his ownership of me in several ways), he said it was because I wasn’t sufficiently motivated because of the distance. Thinking about it more, I don’t know how true that is. The punishments are worse long-distance, and I do follow through on them and do report any mistakes or violations I make. Of course, then I need an alternate explanation for not being good. I think part of it may be that I was so busy and distracted and super exhausted last week that I lost that sense of belonging to him as an object and forgot my place as a fucktoy. Three holes and a heartbeat. That’s no real excuse, of course. It means I need to do a better job of internalizing what I am and what my purpose is so that I don’t forget even when I’m completely drained, physically and mentally. He gave me an assignment a little while ago that will help with that.

During our conversation, when I discussed that I felt bad that I’d fucked up so much (I at first said that I felt like I’d fucked up a lot that week, and he said “Do you feel that way or have you?” and I had to repeat it properly and mmmph. So hot.), one of the explanations/excuses I had was that I just do not do well with cold. I shut down, physically and mentally. I think that’s why I did such a bad job with the two days of sleeping naked with no pillow or blanket. Each time, I woke up in the middle of the night and got into bed, or sat with a blanket, intending to just be a moment. The first time, I swear to the metaphorical excuse for a goddess that I must have dreamt getting up and going back to the floor, because I really thought I did that. I didn’t, though, and I immediately felt very guilty and shameful when I woke up, and texted MLAM right away. The second night, I was at Legal Lolita’s apartment after the happy hour and it was so very cold and I sat up with the blanket for a minute and promptly did the same thing. I’d even tried to just stand there for a minute instead so it wouldn’t happen, but I fucked up. I woke up, again filled with guilt and shame, and I texted him immediately and told him that I’d fucked up again. I was pretty upset and actually didn’t go back to sleep again, even though I was super tired from the happy hour.

During our conversation, MLAM was very, very generous and told me that I could earn a blanket for the next punishment (a punishment for pissing while I was with Legolas) by coming up with three things to offer him. I have a hard time with things like that, and told him so. It’s partially because I don’t feel very creative, and also, with him, it’s because I’d give him anything he asked for. My body and mind belong to him, after all. He told me that the point of this was basically to see what I would offer, getting at where my mind is at with all of this. I did immediately offer him unprotected anal, but acknowledged the risks, and he appreciated the offer, but turned it down, since I’m not on hormonal BC and that’s just not worth it.

After our conversation, I called Legal Lolita, and during our conversation, I asked for her help brainstorming things to offer. We came up with several things, and when I got off the phone, I thought of more because I realized that collaborating with her may have missed the point of the exercise.

I offered him these three things and explained that the second two were the result of brainstorming with Legal Lolita.

1. A piece of writing of at least 1000 words, to be completed within a week. (He love love loves reading things I write, and is extraordinarily flattering about them. Made me giddy and blushing and sososo happy by saying that it makes me valuable and I have no competition in that area.)

2. I will ask C4 and Legolas to cum on my face together (Obviously I’ll tell them the reason I’m asking, besides, of course, that it would be degrading and that’s how I ought to be treated. If they aren’t comfortable being involved with my play with MLAM like that, I’ll find something else to offer him.)

3. He will pick a toy or impact tool from Amazon, and I will purchase it for him alone to use on me or to order me to use. That includes things with leather. (This is one that I was hesitant about and still have some uneasy feelings, now I think of it. Not about the first part, but about the leather. We’ve talked about messing with my veganism, and I think I’m going to have to put a hard limit on eating non-vegan things, but I’m willing to offer this. It’s very edgy, and if he picks something with leather, I’m not 100% sure how I’ll react.)

Then I said that I understood that it may have violated the reason for having me think of three things to have collaborated with Legal Lolita, and offered these two additional things:

4. When I visit A2, I will be naked whenever he and I are in my apartment, and I won’t wear panties the entire time. (This is something I like the idea of a lot, but also is something uncomfortable in a number of ways. He could make life -very- difficult for me with fans and inviting people over and short, short skirts and flippy skirts on windy days and going out to bars. Not to give him any ideas, or anything.)

5. I will shave or trim my pubic hair in any way he wants. (This may seem like an obvious and simple thing for a submissive little bitch to offer their owner, but for me, it’s not so much. I haven’t done anything to my pubic hair [except some minor side shrubbery trimming once or twice] in about a year, and I’m quite attached to it on several levels. MLAM and I have talked about him making me shave it, and my other hair, but he didn’t want me to do that before I moved so that I could present myself the way I wanted when I started meeting new people. I somewhat hesitated when I thought of this. I wasn’t sure if I should offer to shave all my hair or just this. I landed on just this because it’s not such a huuuuuge step in feminization/fucking with my feminism as the legs or armpit hair, which I haven’t shaved in something like three or four years. I think that makes it a better thing to offer, rather than for him to command. Of course, if he wants me to shave the legs and armpits, too, I will.)

I added that I understood if now that I offered all five, he’d want all five in trade for the blanket. I was fairly certain that he’d want them all, and I wanted to give them. I want to be good and properly submissive, to do things he tells me to do, to give him pleasure, to be degraded and used by men.

He texted back earlier. He said “You seem like such an eager cunt I’ll allow you to do all five to show the depth of your depravity and submission.” I’m very appreciative of that. I fucked up quite a bit lately, and I’m happy for a chance to try to make up for that. I know I’m still a disappointing cunt, but I can do my best to improve for the future.

In addition to having to sleep naked on the floor with no pillow (but with a blanket, thanks to his kindness), he told me “to try to drill into your mind how absolutely base you are, when at home, you’ll now be squatting and peeing in the tub. And no matter where you are, you are to be masturbating fast and hard while you pee. We’ll see if behaving like an animal will help you learn at least as easily as one, you dumb cunt.” He later added that “masturbating while peeing is to mix the basic urges of your body to remind you you’re only three holes and a heartbeat.”

He’s so deliciously creative and thoughtful, which makes him an especially fun and dangerous person to have as a dom/owner. I love every moment.

I’m really quite glad to have something to do frequently (every time I piss, in fact) because it will help me remember my place and that I’m here to be used by and to please men. I so want to become the perfect fucktoy for MLAM, and I want to be able to be that, even when I’m exhausted. As I wrote earlier, at the moment, when I’m super tired, or cold, or otherwise impaired, I misbehave and fuck up because I lose sight of the fact that really, I’m three holes and a heartbeat, and anything else is superfluous. Having a frequent task to perform that will remind me of that and will help me internalize it the way I need to in order to become a good little “”“”feminist”“”” bitch.