I’m really dedicated to inhabiting the spirit of the contract. I think my Sir has been surprised at how much I have embraced it and actively sought to fulfill my part in it. I suspect that says something bad about me, but I’m not going to stress over it. All I can do is continue to give it my all.
So, one of the expectations my Sir has for me is that I be willingly available to him. This can be difficult, for reasons I’m not going to cover in this entry. I just have trouble setting myself aside if I’m not in the right headspace. This part of the contract really challenges that, so I knew it would take a lot of effort on my part to comply. Last night/early this morning, my compliance was put to the test.
My Sir was getting ready to sleep, and I hurriedly asked him if I could remove the collar (in preparation for my own sleep), and there was a long pause. He instructed me to remove my shirt and come to him. As he admired the way the collar looked on my bare skin, he rested his chin on my cleavage. The scruff on his face from not shaving felt rough against my skin, but it was a nice contrast. I obligingly lifted my breasts and pushed them more firmly around his face, and he made an appreciative noise in his throat. Then he reached up and removed the collar.
I tried to step away, but Sir pulled me back possessively. He told me that I had made him hard, so he wasn’t tired anymore. I protested, given the hour, and then admitted that I wasn’t feeling well. He reluctantly let me go, and muttered something about how he should make me come over there and jerk him off; it was the least I could do for getting him all hot and bothered. I froze, instantly trying to gauge his seriousness and how I felt about it and what I thought I should do, at that point. If he pushed the issue, could I do it? I reminded myself of my commitment to make 2012 a year of ‘yes’ rather than ‘no,’ took a deep breath and waited to see what he’d do.
He apparently took my stance as being a challenge, as though I didn’t think he’d do it. So he beckoned me over and what began as me jerking him off became a blowjob. Actually, it sort of alternated between the two. He asked if it turned me on that he was making me do this, even though I didn’t really want to. Yes. He asked me if I knew why he was doing this. Because you own me. And then he asked the crucial question; he asked me what I am. A slut. It came from my lips easily, nearly immediately. I knew he would push the question, because I knew what he wanted me to say. He asked what else I am, and I shook my head.
I couldn’t make myself say what I knew he wanted to hear. He gave me the benefit of the doubt, asking a couple of leading questions, and I tried to make myself disappear. This is the kind of humiliation I love. It really is humiliating. I don’t resist just for the fight, I resist because it is genuinely uncomfortable for me to say. It sticks in my throat… it is not flattering. I don’t like the words. I feel a bit of anger that he would tell me to speak of myself this way. It is real. And he knows it. He got smug when he realized that I knew what he wanted me to say and I was specifically avoiding it.
He also got annoyed, and he let that show. He told me he expected me to answer him, and that I was in trouble already- did I want to make it worse? I found my tongue, reminding myself that we were in a new phase, and made myself say it. I’m your cum bucket. He made me repeat it a few times, then announced that I wasn’t allowed to touch myself. This is a fairly uncommon occurrence, and I felt humiliated all over again. It was delicious and terrible, all at the same time.