Ancilla's Dirty Diary: Entry 4 (11/09/21)

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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11 September 2021

Master made me cry last night. Not by beating me. No. That I barely felt. It was very quiet when he was beating me because the storm earlier in the day had knocked down a pole and the power was still out. There was very little light in the room and without the air conditioning on, the silence feels unnatural. Maybe the same silence wouldn't feel as strange if we had been outside. He sat me on the floor in the corner and sat in front of me on the big armchair, bending down a little to beat my breasts. It didn't hurt or, it did hurt but it wasn't unpleasant, and if he hadn't stopped himself an hour after he started, I probably wouldn't have said anything for several more hours. That wasn't what caused the tears. 

Something happened in the morning. We were still asleep but it was close to the time our alarm was scheduled to go off, and he turned over to me and put his hand on my cunt. He does that sometimes, and I like it. My cunt is very sensitive to his touch, especially these days because not only has it been ages since I had an orgasm, he's been touching me very little, and when he does, he seems to do it to remind me that I'm making his hands dirty. I've started spontaneously apologising in advance every time his fingers make contact with my cunt. I was half-asleep, I still apologised. But I was also, half-asleep! So, I didn't think about it when I started bucking against his hand. Just rotating my hips and rubbing myself against his palm just a little. I couldn't have done it more than five times when he slapped my cunt and woke me up. A little while later as he pissed on my head, he brought it up, telling me he didn't expect me to behave like a dirty pig, and if I did, he would have to treat me like one. 

There is very little in the world I am truly scared of, but I am scared of that, that threat scares me. When he calls me a pig, and treats me like one, it only ever ends in total and complete emotional and physical destruction. There is no boundary to the shame and degradation he will subject me to and there's nothing worse than the fact that I will happily, and eagerly, participate. It's like boot camp for fallen slaves. That's the thing. When he calls me a pig, it's always because in his head he's demoted me from being his slave for that period. It's never a one-hour period. Sometimes it lasts months, but most often it lasts 5 days to 2 weeks. That's a lot of time when you understand what it entails. It's a very pronounced production, there's no subtlety to it whatsoever. In his head, he lends me a lot more dignity as an object that serves him sexually, than a brainless animal he uses to satisfy himself. I can see why. The latter is a terrifyingly pathetic state. I don't know how we came to amalgamate all the rules and conventions that apply to it, we never made a chart, but they're all very specific. 

He doesn't let the animal on the bed. He doesn't let it piss into a toilet. He doesn't let it shave its body. He teases and denies into absolute insanity. He doesn't care about the extent to which the humiliation goes. He doesn't beat it as much, but there's a crass element to the beating when he does. He makes it behave like it's an animal in heat. He fucks it like one. He doesn't approve of anything it does, he doesn't even believe it capable of doing things, just being holes. It's very vulgar. The language, even more so. It's a terrible state to get through. The arousal hurts when it's unrelentingly forced on you, and never allowed to go anywhere. It physically hurts. I feel thirsty all the time. My mouth constantly feels dry. I don't want to be in that state at all. It's an inevitability in some ways, but it's really on me how long I can delay it. I just have to be completely perfect and he won't make me be a pig. 

Except he didn't see it as so perfect that I tried to rub myself against him. Perfect slaves don't do that according to him. Never. So when he threatened to treat me like an animal, I panicked so much, I started to incoherently beg. He didn't say anything to any of it, just that he would see how I behaved that night and decide what I deserved to be. I was determined to he perfect, but his yardstick was that I had to be bone-dry in the cunt while he beat my tits and clit. Which, come on. That's not possible unless you really hate pain or don't have genital-based reactions to it, neither of those things is true of me. At all. He put me on my back to beat my cunt and made all of these disapproving sounds about what he was saying. It only made me more wet. He kept telling me he was displeased, and it was so terrible because I was being perfect. Poised, quiet, apologetic, grateful, obedient. All the things. Yet he kept saying I was being so shameful. The more he said it, the harder he beat me. I didn't even move out of place once. Not even a tiny little bit. Yet he kept hitting me harder and harder. 

But that's not what made me cry either. 

I cried when he fucked me, because it felt like his judgement. He was fucking me like an animal. He didn't say that but it filled me with such dread I started crying and apologising for things that hadn't even happened yet. I promised to be the perfect slave and I may even have promised to never ever get wet again. He didn't say anything. Just let me cry and cry before making me lick the cum off every surface it had splashed on. I thought for sure it would end with me on the floor being told I was a dirty pig. It didn't. He tucked me into bed and told me I was his perfect slave instead. He put his hand on my cunt and went to sleep. I didn't move at all even though all I wanted was for those fingers to satisfy me just a tiny little bit. Perfection is some bullshit.