Glorious Humiliation #MasturbationMonday

Isn’t it funny how things work out sometimes? When I saw that my pic was the Masturbation Monday prompt for this week it made me smile. My story today took place wearing the same shirt I’ve got on in the prompt photo. Lovingly nicknamed my Lesbian shirt. There’s not much of a mention of it in my writing, as my focus was on other things. However, the pic above was taken after the fun of this writing (and a little bit more) and I think you can see from my face what a good time I had :p  Now, on with the show!

 

Glorious Humiliation

 

H loves me. They care for me in many different ways from feeding me delicious gluten free food to sending me word snuggles whenever I’m in need (just reading the word makes me feel safe and comforted) and of course, there’s all the love bites!

That love feeds into our kinky fun times too, it gives me opportunity to explore things I wouldn’t dream of doing with just anyone. Masochist me will lend my body to anyone who I’m confident can hurt me in a risk aware way.  It’s only my body though and my brain in so far as I use it to process the fun body pain and sometimes write about it.

H gets all of me.

We started out with words. We spent a long time working out what pushed each other’s buttons. I remember the time H told me my face would look good pressed against the floor by their foot. It left me speechless with want.

They caught on quickly that degradation was something I enjoyed. On one very memorable occasion they used it to distract me from panicking about crowds. I was very red and blushy sat in a Wetherspoons as they mused how many fingers they could fit in my cunt and offered to piss on me.

The very first time we played, they pressed my face to the floor with their foot, spat on me and called me a slut. I was degraded and lifted up. Cherished.

How does that work? Well, let me tell you about something that happened this last time I visited H. We’d had 2 days together. Most of that time we spent entwined in some way or another. It was delightful.  A chunk of the time we weren’t snuggled up H was practising their new drag act. I was in no way disappointed to watch it 4 times through. Also, no hardship to be the eager (or not so eager, I can act too) volunteer. Mostly because Alix the Genderqueer buccaneer is hot. Super hot in fact.

H was still in costume as they cooked, then we ate dinner and as we snuggled chatting and watching TV. Somehow I got caught up in their skirt and as we moved around to correct the situation I ended up on top of them. Oh dear.

And we kissed. God, do I love H’s kisses. They’re so varied and I just feel like I could kiss them all day. Thing is, those kisses turn me on. Or in most cases, fan the flame of arousal higher and even higher until I am consumed in the heat. So the kisses slipped from lips and ended up on neck and shoulder and breast and teeth got involved.

The noises H makes as I bite them go in my ears and lodge deep in my cunt. To hear them so turned on just makes me so wet. Rawwrrr.  Yes, I was on top of H, varying between kissing, nibbling and biting, their leg was between my thighs and I was grinding down against them as them as they rhythmically thrust their thigh up against my cunt, until I was whimpering and moaning as much as they were.

Pushing me down, they pulled their cock free of their pretty purple knickers and I eagerly bent to take them in my mouth. I love the feel of them, the smell, the taste. We recently found out that me moaning in pain whilst giving them a blow job works really well for both of us. So this time, whilst I sucked their dick, they used the new implement I’d bought them (a rather nasty little fucker of a paddle, different textures, tapering to a point) on my shoulders.

It’s a different kind of pain to process and doing that at the same time as sucking cock wasn’t easy but was really fucking hot. There was a mutual trust. I trusted they wouldn’t hit somewhere they shouldn’t and they trusted me not to bite their dick off. A balance of give and take. You might think H was doing all the taking but no. They were giving me pain, which I adore and they let me worship them in a way that demanded every last bit of my attention. I was free.

Eventually, they pulled me away from their cock and started to wank. I watched their hand on their shaft and eagerly waited for their cum. I wanted to taste it so much. I panted with need.  I looked up from their moving hand to their face and immediately met their gaze. They’d been watching my enraptured desperation.

My cheeks flushed with heat but I kept looking at them. The lust and joy deeply evident. I fed on that. My own body rushing with arousal.

Then they spat on me. Right on my left cheek. I recoiled, as if I’d been hit. Dipping my head and my gaze down in humility as well as humiliation.

“Look at me.” They commanded. I wanted so much to keep hiding my blushing face but their tone brooked no argument. I looked up.

“I want to see you blush as I humiliate you.” They said before spitting on me again.  “Cum slut.”

I fought with myself to keep looking up at them, to meet their gaze with my own as much as I wanted to duck down and hide my embarrassment and the spittle on my cheeks.

They continued to wank. I continued to look up into their eyes. I couldn’t do anything else. They had me completely under their control. I would do anything they asked, I was so desperate for them to come.

They spat on me again and as the embarrassment flushed through me, my cheeks and my chest reddened, a triangular shaped area visable between the edges of my checked shirt. my eyes closed in instinct and fluttered open a second later, remembering what I’d been told. All this contributed to the wet pool of lust that was my cunt. I throbbed with need. Not with my need, but their need. I ached for their cum.

“Beg for it.” They said, eyes fluttering closed as they wanked. I took a moment to process the words. I was so caught up in the moment it took me a second to work out what they meant.

“Please.” The word whispered over my lips, soft, gentle and quavering with my desire. They threw back their head, closed their eyes and continued to stroke, harder, faster now. My hesitant desire seemingly pushing them closer to the edge.

“Please.” I was a little louder, made confident by their response. I looked down at their cock, hand wrapped around it, I watched for a few seconds before looking up again, being captured by their gaze again.

“Oh please,” I whimpered.

“Please. Please.” My desperation heightened as I saw them tighten and arch their back.
“Please come.” I begged, urgently, desperately, reduced to only need, only want.

“Please, I need your cum.”

I was so happy when they pressed my head down onto their spurting cock. I drank their cum eagerly, swallowed and sucked, drinking it all. I kept my mouth around them. I wanted it all. I wanted them to know how much I needed their cum, how thankful I was for it. I cradled them in my mouth a while, whimpering and moaning my pleasure.

They pulled me up for a kiss, their smile broad. They held me to their chest.

“You’ve still got spit on you.” I could hear their smile even though I couldn’t see it. Another spike of humiliation made me smile and blush.

“Good girl.” They whispered.

I beamed. Heart, mind, body and soul deeply satisfied.

And that’s how it works. H breaks me with words and actions and asserts control until I am nothing more than a receptacle for them to use as they please. They take their pleasure, I revel in serving them, in being nothing more than the object they choose to use. Enraptured and delighted because they chose me.

Then they hold me, pull me back together, praise and reward me. They cherish me and I feel that like the warming heat of brandy suffusing my whole body.

I am sexual, I am useful, I am loved.

Humiliated and glorified.