Ancilla's Dirty Diary: "He still won't touch me." (12/09/21)

Note: Welcome to my journal. This is a new segment. 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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12 September 2021

I think master is trying to embarrass me into nothingness. It's so hard to admit to being sexually embarassed, it is not the same as feeling aroused.

It's Sunday, and we're both taking a long weekend which has been amazing so far — waking up late, having sex in the afternoon, eating cake, watching nonsense and talking endlessly — it's truly wonderful.  It does give him a lot of time with my body, though. I'm constantly close enough for him to play, and frequently unclothed. Usually the time we spend working is a breather, for me to bury my dead and take stock of my losses. For me to be focused on something else, and undistracted by the endless devotion he so casually demands from me. It doesn't reset my body entirely, but it does enough that I don't feel constantly overpowered by him. It demands a lot of you. I get that it on some level, it's just sex. It demands a lot of you though. Physically, it's extremely satisfying, but getting beaten and hurt all the time breaks down your body a little by little. It rebuilds it in other ways, but there's definitely breakage. Emotionally, all that explicit availability, honesty and vulnerability, it feels like being out in the world with no immune system. Mentally, all that you take on for this person, even when it's fundamentally a meaningless fulfillment of items of a checklist, it demands your attention and devotion. Behavorially, constantly checking your behaviour and learning to do things a different way is like always being at work in a way. 

It's overwhelming, and so the every day breaks of real life are necessary or it would destroy me. 

It's harder to find those breaks when he is constantly around me. He behaves like I'm a video game and he's trying to win me, and then win me again, and then win me better. It feels like he is playing me all the time. In more and more depraved ways. Today he made me put on underwear. That's weird for me, I never do that, it's like a pointless garment to me, and I own like five, and I never wear them anyway. I only do it when he makes me. He does it because he wants me to feel denied of not just his touch on my cunt, but his gaze too. He does it to make me feel dirty, and then he makes me beg him for ages to let me take them off. He teased me for hours, literally to the point of tears, and the soft, silken fabric of the panties against my very sore and raw cunt felt like a touch I will remember for the rest of my life, but his reminders that he wouldn't touch my bare skin were as cruel as his touches were gentle. 

In the afternoon we lay down to nap and he touched me again, teasing and taunting, and making me ask permission to get wet. Slapping my nipples until I begged enough for him to grant me basic human responses to sexual pleasure. I begged him to let me take off my panties, and that is, embarrassing, it's certainly not something I would ever be able to say in front of anyone but him. There's no way anyone else could ever compel me to be that exposed to them. With him, there seems to be no limit to what I will do. I begged him and every few minutes he would hook his fingers into the waistband of panties pretending that he would take them off and then he wouldn't. Until I almost fell asleep from sheer exhaustion and I felt his fingers pulling them down. I lifted my hips in such excitement and anticipation, it's shameful to think about. 

He didn't, though. He pulled them just a little bit lower. Just enough that they were midway down my butt and the waistband was right on top of my clit in the front. He told me to stay like that while I slept, because having them half pulled-off like that would remind me I was a desperate mess, but also that I wasn't allowed to feel human touch as a desperate mess. It did that, it really did that. I don't quite understand how, but it did it also made me feel embarassed though. Just feeling it against my skin, uncomfortably placed and cutting into my hip in a way that totally defeated the purpose of underwear made me want to stay under those covers forever. 

But he woke me up. 

He woke me up by putting his hand between my legs and teasing me through the bunched up fabric. He still won't touch me. I didn't know long weekends could kill you.