Perfect perversion

It's probably stating the obvious by now to say I like my sex to hurt.  There was a time when that wasn't so clear to me, though.  I vividly remember one of the defining moments in my sexual history, when I was fucked by a truly Dominant man - in a BDSM sense - for the very first time.  Bent over with a hand grasping my hair, I was given my very first hard spank, and my response told him all he needed to know.  "So," he said, "you like a little pain with your pleasure..."  and just like that, I realised I was getting exactly what I needed.

But by far the best way to get pain with my pleasure, is when it simply hurts to be fucked as is, with no other action necessary at all.

I wonder sometimes, why it is that I should feel this way - that the most intense of pleasures are most enjoyable to me, when I suffer for them.  Does it mean that, deep down, I don't want to accept simply feeling good?  Do I feel some unconscious guilt that is absolved by pain?  Certainly something seems to feel.... purifying about the pain.  As though my 'innocence' is held close enough that I can't be held responsible for how incredibly good it feels.  I am allowed to experience ecstasy if it accompanies sacrifice.

But most of the time, I choose not to ask myself these things.  Because they imply something else - that I should want to like sex without suffering... sex that is focussed on making my body feel good all over.... so-called 'normal' sex.... sex that bores me.  The more the experience is designed for my simple pleasure, the more dulled my mind and my senses become.  In effect, I reject the pleasure completely.

So why the hell would I want more of that?

As time goes by, and I understand more and more of my sexual makeup, the less I want it to change.  The truth is, I don't care if my fetish for submission is based in deep psychological disturbance.  It feels fucking awesome to be this twisted.  Let's mess me up even more.

Toilet trained

A little while ago, Master gave me a task.  I could, he said, earn a special reward.  Of course, he tantalised me with what the reward would be, making me crave it before he let me know what the task was.  Then he revealed it: I would have to eat some of my own shit.

This is by no means something I was keen to do - but it was something I already knew I would have to do one day, sooner or later.  It has been a goal for my training for some time, to become a better "toilet".  For a long while now, I have tasted it when he desired, on my fingers or a cock.  A couple of times, he has forced his own shit into my mouth - but eventually I would be required to eat voluntarily.  So, having already been semi-prepared, I agreed.

He let me stew on it for a few days, and take my time.  Then one night, I knew I was ready as I'd ever be.  I found it hard to ask, but eventually I found the words I needed: "Uh.... may I please.... eat my shit.... tonight, Sir?"  Naturally, the answer was yes.

And so I found myself crouching naked in my Master's bathroom, squeezing out the source of my reward and shaking, trying not to think too much about what I was about to do with it.  And he had me down on all fours so he could fuck me while he felt the reaction in my body as I placed it in my mouth and fought not to gag in revulsion, using all my will to swallow, clenching my fists on the floor and heaving as he came, thoroughly enjoying my displeasure.  And then when it was over, I smiled.  I did it.

Then last weekend I was pushed further into filth than ever before.

Many men are given license to do as they wish with me, but very few have the balls or the imagination to take full advantage of what has been offered to them.  This one definitely did.  And I had no idea what was in store for me until it was happening.

It started simply enough, with him pushing more and more fingers into my cunt, stretching my hole wide until it hurt.  Then he moved on to my asshole.  He was rough, and I struggled, Master helping to hold me down and gag me.  He whispered to me, "you are being used."  I had a brief respite when he held my head down by my hair and sprayed my face with his piss.  But then the gag was removed, and I found out what he had in store for me next.

He pushed my face against his ass, and obediently, I lapped and sucked.  But then I felt his muscles tense, and I realised what was going on.  He intended to shit in my mouth.

I tried to pull away, only to discover he had a firm hold on my hair - I wasn't going anywhere.  I realised I could resist if I chose to, but then I would disappoint my Master - and risk not living up to whatever he had told this man I would do.  I moaned against his crack, not sure if I could take it.  And then it was too late.  The taste was there.  I tried to push it out of my mouth, and was grateful when he started to move my head around, smearing it on my face.  Still horrible, but better than forcing the whole thing into my mouth.  The smell was bad, but more tolerable than the taste.

And even then, that was only the start.  Gradually he defecated more and more and began to smear it all over my naked body, slowly covering me in stinking mess.  At first I felt horrified, but I'd made my choice not to fight it, and before long I just felt absent, detached.  When he smeared shit on his cock and shoved it down my throat, I no longer had the desire to stop - I was committed to finishing this, as hard as it was.

At the end, I was shown my reflection.  A humiliated, disgusting mess.  I have never been so filthily degraded and abused.

And now - I feel pride.  I achieved something very challenging that night, and coped far better than I would have imagined.  Even Master seemed proud of me.  There is nothing like pushing my limits and surprising myself, and pleasing him.  A reward provides an incentive, but his pride in me, an immediate prize.