Trick of the trade

There's a kind of plumber's tool, but I don't know what it's called.   It's made of thick, rigid plastic.  One end is a  large, crimped cylinder wide enough to fit over any drain, and the other is a strong handle made for a tradesman-sized fist.  It's big.  And it really hurts having one shoved up your cunt.

Master had an old friend over to fix a blocked drain in his kitchen today.  And as part of the deal, the friend had free use of me while he was there.  It was someone who has fucked me before, but it was a long time ago and he looks quite different now.  It seems a fitting illustration of what a slut I am, that I didn't recognise his face at all - but once he undid his pants, I immediately recognised his cock.

So, for five minute's work, he had me bent over the dining table, hand gripping my hair, his plastic tool wedged in my slut hole, and his flesh one pressed against my crack.  He pushed me to my knees and forced his cock as deep into my mouth as it would go, so that I struggled to breathe against his skin, gagging and retching with drool running down my chin.  Master joined him at that game.  Then I was filled from both ends, Master cumming into my cunt, after his guest shot his load directly into my throat, holding my head firmly still.

It is so good to be used!

By far the best part of my memory of this morning, is my own displeasure.  Master's guest is nice enough, but doesn't fuck the way I like it at all.  He smells and tastes unpleasant, and his cock is not very satisfying.  He uses his tongue and fingers a lot - both of which I hate.  My list of men I dislike fucking is short, but I'm sorry to say he is on it.  And that was part of the beauty of today.  Because if what gets me off most is feeling used regardless of my own will, what good is it to only be fucked by those I like and feel attracted to?  What good is it to be fucked in ways that are choreographed to what I want?  The real lustful, slutty headspace comes from the bad fucks - especially the ones that pay no mind at all to my pleasure or comfort.  The ones that see a slut, and use her - how they want.  The ones that acknowledge openly that they have been given the right to, and are not afraid to take advantage of it.

No, I don't want to remember fondly ever fuck I ever have.  When I relive one and find myself thinking, "ugh... I hope I don't have to do that again soon...." - that's when I know I've really been had.  And that feels good - to be treated as what I am.