Ancilla's Dirty Diary: "Shoes use me and I thank them." (17/09/21)

Note: Welcome to my journal. It's an unfiltered collection of my thoughts and relationship. It's an erotic journal so it's mostly dirty. It's more loose and unstructured than most of my writing, and much more blatant, something of an extension of my actual journal that I write with a pen. Some of these pieces will be short and others longer. It's a journal, I can't control how much I feel about my day. You can find all the pieces under the tag "Ancilla's Dirty Diary".  

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16 September 2021(Entry 7)

It feels like a fever dream. Maybe it is. I haven't had a fever in almost a day now but the fatigue from it and the stuffiness in my head and nose is making me so confused. I'm not terribly sick, not at all, not even enough to not work, but I'm tired. I'm exhausted. I barely slept last night. Before bed, every thirty minutes master put his fingers on my cunt and his fist on my jaw. It was an odd combination which inevitably led to my face smelling of cunt and my clit aching with so much need it felt like it had been punched. He's been terribly cruel. He always is when his entire focus is humiliating and reducing me, but usually, that side of him comes out to play for two-four days at a time, then it retreats, and then it comes again a month later. It's his time of the month but this time it has already been a week. I am breaking. If he beat me every damn day of the week and did it for all the weeks of the year, that would be much, much easier to bear. Pain makes me stronger by the day, this makes me weaker by the second. 

For the first six hours, it's all so hot. It's so hot to be forced to live on the floor. Be pissed on. Be made to behave like a pig in shamefully detailed ways. Be made to believe I am smaller than his cunt, and must let it dictate my behavior on his behalf. Be made to hump shoes and belts and furniture all the damn time. Be teased, and denied, and denied, and denied until you forget what it's like to not be denied. To be covered in dirt and filth all the time. To be made to refer to parts of my body with strange animal terms. For the first six hours it's hot, but it has been 5 days now, it's excruciating. I am exhausted. It's been ten days since he started going at me full throttle at all times, and it's been maybe twenty days since I had an orgasm. It's not happening any time soon. 

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17 September 2021 (Entry 8). 

Phrasing is everything, really. How the phrasing of things changes tells me a lot of things. A week ago he asked me to hump his shoe, yesterday he told me to let his shoe use me. 

A week ago he saw me as a human being he had control over, but today, I am an object much smaller in dignity and value than his shoe. The printer uses ink, because the printer has more value than the ink. The ink doesn't require a printer to work, that's not how you say it. There are objects big and small. More and less valuable than others. This hierarchy doesn't matter to the shoe. How could it? The shoe doesn't feel pleasure. It doesn't feel anything. The shoe doesn't care if it's on a foot or in between my legs. The shoe doesn't care if I hump it or it uses me. Human language, nor its nuance, means anything to the shoe. The shoe is a prop. A sex-toy. It's me he is sending this message to. I am smaller than a shoe. I don't hump a shoe, because my pleasure is so irrelevant, that an object that is literally incapable of pleasure gets to use me for its pleasure before I get to use it for mine. 

He made me thank the shoe for using me. Apologise to the shoe for getting it dirty. Clean the shoe with my tongue, which made it dirtier, so I had to scrub it clean instead. There really is no end to just how much you can belittle and humiliate a person, because unlike shoes, people have feelings. All my feelings are tangled and broken and messy now. I walk around the house apologising to tables for bumping into them and to chairs for sitting in them. There's an internal voice constantly reminding me of this place. This place where shoes use me, and I, thank them.