Human carpet

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Last night was wonderful.

But the night before after I spent a short time on my hands and knees licking Alexandra’s boots a few words caused things to fall apart abruptly.

I awoke feeling very guilty. She was asleep so I went to the grocery store. Buying food was a way of doing something for her even though she wasn’t awake.

Punishment slap

The guilt was new. I found myself needing her to punish me: kick me, slap me, tie me up and leave me alone. Mostly I needed her anger. The feelings left me tense and unable to rest. It seemed that only her wrath would allow me to relax. By early afternoon the feelings faded. (There were external distractions or I might’ve begged her to use me in a way that would purge my sense of guilt.)

Last night I became her carpet. It had been a long time since we’d done that. She dug her heels into my flesh, dragged the edges of her boots across me. Often it hurt. One nipple came in for special attention and became so sore that even a light touch made me wince.

Being a hungry masochist I wanted it to hurt more but I didn’t feel any loss that she didn’t make it harsher. It made me happy just to be connected to her again as her slave.

Alexandra brought something cold and started rubbing it against my body. After a few moments I discerned it was an egg. My body responded involuntarily when it moved across my lower back and buttocks. Pleasure, not pain but my jerks left me feeling just her plaything.

I knew she was going to crush the egg. When it lay nestled between my butt checks I kept waiting for her to crush it into me.

She broke it on the back of my neck then rubbed it about me with her boot.

Here I let her down. Breaking an egg on me was meant to humiliate me. When it broke my main thought was that it’d be a mess to clean up.

I wish I weren’t so hard to humiliate. Not that I can’t thing of acts that would leave me feeling nasty and (safely) abused.

Then she allowed me a treat: licking her boots. I always moan and whimper with pleasure when I’m down there as her human shoe polish. The soles were filthy with cat hairs. Nothing leaves me feeling more joyously her property than removing filth from her boots. Adoration blends with the sense that I’m just a thing that she uses. Sometimes I cringe but I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything.

After a pause Alexandra bound me and bent me over the couch for a whipping. I don’t think she’s ever made me hurt more. Sometimes when the quirt or single tail cut into me I bit the cushion for self-control. When she stopped for once I felt I’d had enough: a small milestone. The day will yet come when the pain leaves me begging her to stop.

Slave on leash

Then she chained my genitals to a ring on her boot. When her leg moved my body had no choice but to follow. My cock and balls enslaved by her boots: deeply humbling and erotic.

A week or so ago she’d planned to lead me on a leash around the backyard. Being treated like a pet, especially being on a leash turns me to mush inside. There isn’t a pet fantasy from soft to brutal I haven’t dreamt of repeatedly. But we fell asleep that night. And again last night.

No complaint: crawling on all fours outside will be thrilling when it happens.

Last night was deeply satisfying. My butt still feels an afterglow from my whipping. Like most mornings after a great night of D/s I feel like an addict and want more.

Thankfully we’ve made it past the misfires and confusion and connected again as Goddess and slave. From our conversations I think we’ll both be working so that I can spend more time at her feet.

(An external distraction has called to announce his forthcoming arrival leaving me no time to reread this before posting.)

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Humiliation, hmm. Something I started to touch on, but with which I have little experience.

My pet found being photographed when in use humiliating. One of my favorite photos of him was of him on his knees, in his dog collar, holding a ball in his mouth. The pet store logo on the ball is clearly visible, as is the computer geek logo on his shirt (what would your friends think?).

I had him masturbate and tape record it so I could play back the sound of his orgasm whenever I wanted. (I also had him record his reactions to salt and lemon juice on a fresh cut, but that really isn’t humiliation, is it?)

I very much enjoyed making him fetch. It was amusing watching him scurry about after the ball.

When he misbehaved, I would make him drink from a metal pet dish on the floor. He was a fairly heavy drinker (sake; Guinness) and had to throw away what he couldn’t finish that way.

Once I made him go buy a can of baby food (spinach) and he took photographs of himself eating it and of the empty jar afterwards. He didn’t know how to cook, so I told him I would buy him a cookbook so he could cook for me when next I visited - had not yet decided on which child’s cookbook to get him (you know, the sort that says get an adult’s help when you use the stove). Probably the retro 1950’s Better Homes and Gardens.

And there was the time I made him masturbate with a can of frosting and send me pictures of the resulting mess after he came.

Frankly, that didn’t do a lot for me either, but he loved messy play. He really desperately wanted to be hit in the face with a pie in public, but I never did so.

I did take him on a leash to see Rocky Horror (it was Fetish Night, but he was still very nervous). And (he had no nightstand) after a weekend with him, stuffed a couple of bills into his mouth on the shuttlebus returning to the airport as payment for services rendered. (“Not a whore,” he wrote in his journal afterwards.)

He liked being slapped (which I loved to do, so that worked out well). He also liked being spat on and forced to eat his own ejaculate (which didn’t do a lot for me, really, but he found it embarrassing). He wanted to be called my bitch…a word Aspirant appreciates, but I do not in that context. It is a word I have been trying to reclaim in an entirely different way for most of my life.

Some of the things I had him do might be considered humiliation, I suppose, though I considered them more public marks of ownership.

I had him paint his nails for me. This wasn’t forced feminization, in which I have zero interest. He had his choice of metallic blue or silver. It was a visible token and something that startled him when he saw it. I happen to like metallic blue nailpolish and can’t wear it—I have a job that forbids it (I work in the food industry). If I wore nail polish, I’d have taught him to give me a manicure…without using his hands.

Being slapped and spat on are two of the few things I know will trigger a sense of humiliation in me. I wish I knew more acts that would. As spooky as humilation is when it happens it would give both of us real satisfaction.

Bitch? Not sure how I’d feel. Sexism troubles me. I feel a bit ashamed to confess this but I’ve sometimes wondered what it would be like for Alexandra to call me a faggot. Actually during my queer-identified years it was a word I used for myself as a form of self-empowerment. I suspect the harm it did to many gay young men that I cared for is what would give it such a horrible effect on me.

I’m hoping that one day when we can perhaps we when can plan to have a very, very long session I can live as a human pet. The status seems as if it would be deeply fulfilling. But I think it would take duration to really take me down.

plzzz… i want a mistress from india…i m a slave help me in this

There was a mainstream film a few years ago about a 19th-century American ship’s crew captured by the Japanese samurai and tortured. In one scene, the American captain tries to one-up his captors by shouting “Bah! I piss on your country!” The crafty Japs (this was not made during WWII) hold the guy down on his knees while their off-screen leader pisses in the guy’s face (movie special effects, y’know). Nothing sexual or erotic, but very sybolic.

“Piss on you, buddy,” has been around in our street vocabulary for a long time as a symbol of disdain and humiliation.

When a Mistress does it to Her slave, it just adds eroticism to an extremely humiliating act, and adds utter humiliation to a very erotic procedure.

Glad you cleared up the sanitation and health issue, Richard — although it has to be fresh: this wine does not keep at all well unless you freeze it into ice-cubes.

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