Humiliation – Day 3

Over the past 2 days I have been forced to accept and hold five enemas, release the contents of my bowels and bladder with no expectation of privacy, eat from a dog bowl, drink fromb4d01b871279da6d6c246e7b323ab3a4 a dog bowl, suffered the indignaties of bakkara, have my body used as a convas for rude, filthy names, been fucked in every opening regardless of my own pleasure, forced to orgasm, and been confined in the basement of our home in an area we call THE ROOM. Why? Because I am sometimes proud, defiant bitch who desperately needs this humiliation in order to happy and productive. Luckily, the Reverand understand this and is sadistic enough and strong enough to give me exactly what I crave. I have just finished scrubbing the concrete floor of the ROOM on my hands and knees. My wrists and ankles are linked together by a 12 inch chain, making movement difficult. In my mouth is a bit like gag. Every few minutes the Reverend says “Present”. I put my forehead on my hands and lift my buttocks. He then administers spankings to my ass and backs of thighs with a leather paddle. Once

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he finishes, he runs a finger down my wet slit, and tells me either what a hopeless tramp I am or how he loves how responsive I have once again become.  Both are true. I sigh, at peace and pleased by Reverand’s attention. This morning it happened. He broke through ever last visage of resistance. He broke me, and thereby, made me whole. I am now free to live in a manner which brings me great satisfaction and pleasure. “Worship,” he commands. I sit up and spin around, looking up at him. He smiles down at me and removes the bit gag. I unleash his mighty cock and begin, licking, kissing, sucking, massaging, worshipping his manhood.  I feel the tremors begin deep in my body and know I’m about to orgasm. Reverand does not restrict these. He calls me a slut, a tramp, fuck box – all of which is true. I embrace these names. He reaches down and pinches my nipples, twisting them until tears spring to my eyes and my body rocks with the forces of pleasure. He pulls out of my mouth and says, “Present.” I return to my previous position. He presses against my well used anus and begins to fuck me. There is no lovemaking. I am his fuck toy.  I cry out, which pleases him, and come again. He is so big and has used me so much I think I my body might split in two. If it does, I’ll die happy. He still holds the paddle and begins slapping it against my ass. Then, he’s coming, filling my bowels with his own essence. When he finishes, he sits back and says, “Clean.” I crawl to him and lick his cock, cleaning his cum and my juices from his flesh. When I finish, I lay my head in his lap and look up at him, smiling. He again begins to twist and pull my nipples and I come, keeping my eyes on his, just as he likes. “That’s it, you cumslut. You love this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I whisper and we both know it’s true.

“Good. Because I never again intend to let you slide as badly as I did. You’re my fucking slut, and I promise, my love, to do a better job of keeping you in line,” he says.

“Thank you,” I say, tears again springing to my eyes.

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