Under the Desk

Today's assignment is to write about last night.

Last night I got a very long, very hard, very sensual over-the-knee hand spanking. That's not something that we do very often and it was nice. I really enjoyed it.

Later, while dilly-dallying around getting into the shower, Master pasted a cinnamon listerine strip on my clit. Those little fuckers burn! But it was effective, as showering became the *only* thing on my mind and I ran to it. In spite of the burning, it was lighthearted and fun and I enjoyed that too.

However...

In the middle of the those two activities, I was put under the desk. Getting put under there is just as you imagine it would be. On my hands and knees, ass in the air, in the space where the chair should be. And while Master does His thing online.. He's fucking me. Sometimes brutally, sometimes not. Because He's not really concentrating on fucking, or cumming, this can last for a really, really long time. He mostly ignores me under there, except to occasionally tell me to stop moving, or to remind me of how I am a cunt, a filthy slut, a dirty bitch... good for little more than a place to dump His cum.

The floor is linoleum and most times I'll be awarded a pillow to put under my knees. Sometimes, just a towel. Sometimes, nothing...and the fact that my knees are hurting as He rocks me back and forth is appealing to Him. If I can orgasm it's no concern to Him. He doesn't care if I do or not, as He reminds me that it's about His pleasure, not mine. I often try not to orgasm (which isn't too hard since He isnt trying to make me anyway) as a way to hold on to a tiny bit of myself, control myself, unwilling to give Him the satisfaction. But if He wants me to, if He tries to make me, I can't stop it. And that pisses me off to no end. All it earns me is some disparaging remark about the "mess" I make on His cock.

It's very cramped under there (and though I make a conscious effort to clean there, it gets dusty and dirty). If I'm lucky I'll have already had my hair in a ponytail. Otherwise it's in my face, being sucked into my mouth and nose, in my eyes, and just generally a pain. My hands go numb from holding myself up, or my elbows get sore if I rest on those. And I am constantly having my head banged into the back of the desk. Purposely. It's His attempt (I think) at making me press backwards against Him. And it works.

It's stuffy down there... very little airflow. It's hot. My pussy dries up and depending on how much it's hurting Him, He'll get some lube. Depending on how much He enjoys that it's hurting me, He won't. Sometimes He adds nipple clamps, which hurt like fuck when your tits are swinging and swaying, and the time they are on is typically long. If I remind Him they are there, He yanks them off quite cruelly. I've learned it's best to suffer through them, and ask to remove them myself after He cums. He's in a much more friendly mood after an orgasm.

I generally say very little when I'm down there. What He wants to hear is not much more than a "yes Sir" or "no Sir". At times, my temper flares and I'll spit out something along the lines of "I hope You break Your dick and it falls off"... which usually only gets me a laugh and a much harder fuck as He really does try to break it off inside of me. I can cry... or beg... or moan and cum... or be silent as a corpse... and He ignores me. I am nothing but His pocket pussy.

On the rare occasion, I enjoy it under there. When the fuck is quick, when I cum and He cums and all is right with the world. But mostly not though.

So those are the mechanics of being under the desk. The feelings are much harder to articulate. And that's the assignment. How does it make me feel.

It's another one of those "I'll love it tomorrow" things. And I do. Thinking about it after the fact, makes me twitch and squirm and generally soak my panties. I like being used, I like that He is pleased. I like that He uses me to please Himself, that is my job after all. Sure, I like being used in other, funner (for me), ways to please Him better but that's not my choice. And I like that I have no choice about it. I've yet to be able to talk Him into something else when He swats my ass and points under the desk. And I have tried.

But all of those good feelings come way after I've crawled out of there. As I'm crawling in... I'm much less happy to be the pleasing slut that I am supposed to be. My thoughts and emotions range everywhere from slight annoyance... to extreme anger... to being convinced that He hates me, doesn't care about me, that any old pussy would do, which is probably true...I'm reduced to being an object. An almost masturbatory tool. A thing... a place to plant a cock...a place to dump some sperm.

I want to cry when I get out...it's almost a punishment...I'm dying inside...I feel worthless.. I feel like a piece of meat...I wonder what I have done or said to make You reject *me*...I cover the tears with anger... and give You dirty looks afterwards... I try to give You back a little of the emotional pain... telling You I hate You...and Your laughter and callous disregard for my feelings cuts like a knife.

And then, the magical masochist. Just as You reminded me last night... I am a horny, dripping slut today. I love You. I love what You do to me. I want more, I want it harder, I want to ride the edge. With You, for You, because of You.

The stuff my fantasies are made of. Be careful the things you wish for.
kaya