My tears are not a sign of weakness. They are the manifestation of release. When you take me, I will resist. I will fight for control because that is the nature of our society and culture. You must be strong for me. I need this from you. I need you to be persistent, not cruel, but persistent enough to convince me with determination rather than force that what you will take from me, what you demand of me, what you do to me, what I long to give. What you expect of me is not your own selfishness, but for the good of both of us. I will not want this, initially. Slowly, firmly, I need you to convince me. Do not be afraid or hesitant in your requirements and always talk to me with patience and love. Tell me what you expect, what you will do, then do it.
You told me today you would use my ass. I don’t want this. You smiled and told me to prepare an enema. You expected me to be cleaned. That I would administer a minimum of three enemas today. I complained and refused at first. Again you smiled, pulled me over your lap and spanked me until I cried, my tears signalling my release of control over to you. Then you kissed me and sent me on my way.
I obeyed. Once. The humiliation was horrific, but I followed your words. An hour later, you told me to repeat the process. I complained again and you simply raised your eyebrows. I sighed and stomped my foot, assuring you I had no need of a second application. This time, you bent me over a chair and pulled off your belt. After five stripes of the leather I again had tears streaming down my face. I am not afraid of you at all. I know if I tell you to stop you will. But I don’t do this. Instead, I turn and kiss you then do as you want me to. You are right to require this. As I eliminate, I feel cleaner, more open, more relaxed.
I go about my daily chores and sure enough, an hour later, you again order me to complete my third and final cleansing. I know better than to argue this time and meekly follow your instructions. When I finish, you hold me, kiss my head and tell me how happy I’ve made you. My soul floats on this praise, but more, I am proud of myself and feel more of a woman than I have all week. I am strong enough to accept your control. Strong enough to give you my power, and you are strong enough to accept it and use it with kindness and wisdom.
You order me to strip and I do so. You bend me over the same chair which you used to belt my bottom. I feel my face flush as you pry apart my butt cheeks and I feel something cold enter my very clean anus. I feel a burn and cry out. You soothe me with your voice and tell me that because I resisted not once, but twice, I would have to endure the burning of ginger in my anus while you again reminded me that I belonged to you. This time, it’s a switch. A flexible, thin branch you have trimmed and smooth. I beg you and tell you I have learned my lesson, but you tell me that I have not. You can see the tension still in my body, you can hear the resistance in my tone and you are right.
I grasp the arms of the chair and hear the first swish of the switch. I cry out both from the burn of the ginger and the fire of the switch. I loose count of how may times you switch my bottom. I no longer shout, but my face is wet with tears and my body is loose. My mind has floated to a lovely plain of existence and my cunt is sweet with honey.
At some point, you have removed the fig because I no longer feel the internal burn. Then, I feel a cold slickness pushed into my anus. The tip of your cock presses in and I sigh. The pressure is intense and I feel I will split in two. You enter slowly but steadily. Then, you fuck my ass. hard. You use it as you would my cunt, which you ignore. You grasp my breasts and squeeze my nipples. I feel the heat of your orgasm fill my bowels and I cry even more. I have please you. I have given you control and I have served you as you wanted. You lean against my back and kiss me, telling me what a good woman I have been. I feel you slide out of me and I begin to stand but you stop me with a hand on my lower back.
You are not quite finished with my ass. You want me to remember my place for the rest of the day and so you push a large, metal egg into my ass. This will keep your cum inside of me. It is large enough to be uncomfortable but not so large as to hurt. My bottom is burning from the switch and my asshole filled. You help me to stand, but I drop to my knees before you. I look up, tacitly asking permission. You smile and nod and I take your cock into my mouth. I suck and kiss and lick you clean, attending to your balls and thighs as well. Only when I see to you do I stand.
You tell me to shower then and to put on my house dress – a simple cotton frock. This is all I will be allowed to wear.
My tears are not a sign of weakness, they are the manifestation of my womanhood, my strength and my gift to my Lord.