Admittance is letting go of shame.

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Admittance is letting go of shame.

Filed under slavehood by His Owned

Rating: 6.5/7 (4 votes cast)

The other evening Master and I were enjoying a lovely quiet Sunday night watching some television. I was not feeling overly amorous but I still wished to be physically close with Master. At first we were sitting on the sofa together, then I found my way down to his lap, resting my head on his thigh, probably one of my favourite places when lounging with him. This small movement created a stir inside me, a sudden feeling of submission and before I had time to exhale, I could feel the heat rise up over my cheeks.

Within a minute of repositioning my body, Master's fingers trailed down over my shoulder, lightly strumming over my left nipple. Now I am not certain why my nipples are as erotically channeled as they are but the moment Master begins to play with each protruding nub, my entire body begins to shiver and I instinctively move both towards and away from Master's touch. The intensity of his fingertips playing with my sensitive flesh is overwhelmingly and it creates a warmth deep within my abdomen.

Master continued to tease me, tugging now on both nipples having pushed me onto my back, giving him complete access. I was still clothed, wearing just a thin t-shirt and I believe it was the combination of him playing with me and not being able to feel his flesh upon my own that caused me to arch my back, whimper softly and push my body into his touch hoping he would further explore me. Master was relentless with my breasts, tugging, pulling, tickling each nipple, pushing me to the point of sliding from his lap, kneeling on all fours, face down on the carpet trying to recover from my breathlessness.

I remained on all fours, bare ass exposed and although I felt embarrassment, shame even, I remained still. I was overwhelmed with an aching contradiction: shame at being primal, intensity at being overtly lust filled. Although I did not move, except to push back against Masters exploration of his slaves flesh, a significant part of me wanted to. As comical as it sounds, I felt, in many ways as though I was outside of myself, watching as Master pushed the sole of his foot against my leaking cunt, eventually working his big toe inside me. I gasped, struggled, not with Master but with my own feelings until, at last, I surrendered and flipped my body over, resting on my back, enabling me to part my legs in a frog like stance. I could see Masters eyes smile long before his lips curled into a cheshire grin and as he violated my soft inviting flesh, I found my hips bucking, my fingers twisting the already tortured nipples, mewling like a cat in heat.

With uninhibited abandonment I fucked my cunt against his toe, feeling it push deeper inside of me. Master, enjoying his feast, instructed me to play with my clit, to tease and torment the already flushed flesh. Much to my surprised I obeyed, without reservations and within minutes I found myself begging Master for release. Master granted me such permission and although I knew it was my voice, my sounds that were escaping up through my throat, looking back I truly can not believe I was grunting and grasping and growling out with release.

As I laid there, naked upon the carpet, completely exposed not only physically but emotionally I could not help but giggle. Master appeared puzzled by my response and as he pulled me close, allowing his body to warm my flesh I whispered, "I can not believe I did that". In true Master fashion, he kissed my lips while replying, "I can".

I have pondered to share this experience due to my feelings of embarrassment and shame. Still, after my previous post I believe it is befitting. The toe fucking was definitely the whore, the slut but the shyness afterward was absolutely the good girl. Both existing in me all at the same time. As I remember that moment I find myself smiling, allowing the sensations of being used in that degrading manner to filter through me and I shyly confess I did so enjoy it. Every single minute.

~His

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