Wishes Come True

Master read my last blog entry and an e-mail I'd written him on Friday and apparently, took it to heart.

Yesterday afternoon he used me. In the beginning I was present, thinking, turned-on. He came into the bedroom, fresh from the shower, took the book I'd been reading from me and using a fistfull of my hair as a handle, forced my face into his groin.

A wave of electricity crackled through me from my head to my toes and it centered between my legs as he forced his, now erect, cock down my throat. There was much throat f*cking as he slapped my breasts and pinched my nipples so hard I thought he'd rip them off for sure.

He didn't say much to me but that if I couldn't finish him with my mouth, I had another orifice he'd use. I gave what I thought was a valiant effort. I only stopped to clear my throat and sinuses of the saliva that had gathered and made it difficult to breathe or swallow. I was lying on the bed with my head hanging off the edge, in essence, my head was upside down so he could use my mouth more effectively. Eventually he tired of this and that's when things changed.

He ordered me onto my hands and knees on the bed and began talking about how he'd use my bottom instead. I shook, I was afraid because I knew I was unable to take him there. A few tears filled my eyes as he tossed my Pocket Rocket on the bed next to me while commenting that I might need to use it while he used my bottom. At this point rational thought was quickly abandoning me. I didn't move, I didn't take the PR, I didn't even think of using it.

He lubed me up well and slipped a condom on. Then he began the attempt to take me from behind. I tried to hold still, to remain on hands and knees as ordered but my body had other ideas. Each time he began to press into me, I moved forward. And with every attempt I lost more control over myself. I was sobbing into his pillow and begging him to stop. I wasn't thinking, the me that is writing here now was somewhere else, on vacation probably. What was left was the feral, unthinking me, the soft me that wants only to please and feels absolutely wretched when she fails.

I'm not sure why I was crying, the pain wasn't as bad as all that, he hadn't ever gotten more than the head inside. The lubing up hurt more because he used two fingers and was a little rough with them. I just felt utterly broken down, open, at his mercy.

After a couple more attempts he stopped and sat down next to me on the bed, he had me curl up next to him and he began to soothe me and bring me back to myself. It took a good while for me to calm down. I think he was worried that I'd gone into a bad headspace, it's happened once before. The truth is, I was fine, just in that headspace that I go to when he uses me like that.

He soothed me, I calmed down, and we talked. He told me the reason he doesn't use me like that often is because it takes a lot of energy for him to go blank and let the sadist out in that way. I hadn't known. It made me appreciate him and what he'd done even more. I needed that, I needed to be empty of thought, to do nothing more than feel. I wonder if he needed it too.