What Became of Me

Petra continued to flip through her fashion magazine. She only looked up now and then, probably to make sure her doll was behaving. I also hoped that the sight of me would please her. I held my position and tried to ignore the growing tension in my muscles, the increasing pain, and the occasional tremor as best I could.

The image of Julia appeared in my mind’s eye again. Naked, imprisoned, in heavy shackles,  fixed in an uncomfortable position, helpless, and largely ignored. That was what I was working toward. That level of devotion, self-denial, obedience, suffering. Everything I was going through right now seemed so ridiculously small in comparison. If I didn’t accept my current discomfort – indeed, if I didn’t offer it up willingly – I would have failed at what Petra apparently expected from a toy. And even what was happening in the basement right now was just a small stepping stone. I had so much more to give. I craved to sacrifice to a superior being.

The next time Petra looked up, a faint smile played on her lips. She stood up, and I was relieved that the flexible rod remained on the table. Petra stopped right in front of me – I thought I could feel her body heat. She reached between my legs, and a wave of arousal shot through me. But she didn’t touch me. Petra brought her hand right up to my face: a thread – thick and colorless – draped from her fingers, slowly growing longer.

“You really are such a pathetic, horny cunt!”

I had never denied it. In fact, I had confirmed it at every opportunity on my blog. But now the confirmation was literally dripping out of me.

“That’s not a bad start.”

Petra smeared the pussy juice on my face. I stared at the charcoal drawing and tried not to bat an eyelash, but I don’t think I could help but smile. I could feel my pussy immediately producing replenishment, while Petra took her rightful place on the sofa again.

Sexual arousal is a powerful motivator. How often does horniness drive us to do things we later regret? I still wasn’t at peace with my desires. By then, it had become easier for me to accept that I really was just a pathetic, horny slut. Frequently edging myself into that horny desperation and feeling correspondingly pathetic – well, that had left its mark. If we are what we repeatedly do, we also fundamentally change if we change what we repeatedly do. Feeling inferior was a skill I had acquired through repeated action and self-conditioning, painstakingly nurtured despite the resistance of my upbringing.

But sometimes it just didn’t feel authentic – it felt forced, like a role I was playing. I often couldn’t shake the thought, “I shouldn’t feel this way!” It was exhausting to deal with that cognitive dissonance. I think my edging and denial were also motivated by a desire to keep my level of arousal high enough that my critical inner voice wouldn’t get too loud.

But when sexual arousal was coupled with a genuine awareness of my own disposition, that combination became irresistible. The fact that humiliation and submission turned me on was not something “separate” from me, but simply an expression of my nature. Those were the moments when the dividing line shifted: from the person who sometimes did strange things to get turned on, to the natural submissive who sometimes did strange things simply because social life demanded it. Being a normal person became a role; being an inferior, pitiful slut helplessly enslaved by her submissive disposition became my essence. On my own, however, this shift was difficult to achieve and usually didn’t last long.

Time passed. There was no clock in my line of sight. I figured it must have been afternoon by now. Petra had swapped the fashion magazine for a thick book a while ago and seemed completely absorbed in her reading.

It wasn’t until what felt like another blissful eternity later that Petra set the book aside. She sat down on the low table in front of me and looked me up and down.

“Well, look at that!” she said finally. “Break position! Just look at that puddle between your feet that you made!”

Sure enough, a small puddle glistened on the floor beneath me, surrounded by a few scattered drops.

“To be honest, I thought you were full of shit when I read on your blog that you make puddles of pussy juice when you’re horny. At least, I thought that was an exaggeration. But this – without any direct stimulation – is impressive!”

Of course, it wasn’t my doing that my pussy was producing so much lubrication, and yet I was somehow proud that I’d impressed Petra with it. Apparently, she liked that her new toy was dripping so much.

Petra kept looking back and forth between my crotch and the floor for a while, and I was pretty sure that another thread had come loose in the meantime.

“Wait here!” she finally ordered.

When she came back, she put the box with my clothes on the table.

“Get dressed! I’m going to pay that other thing in the basement a visit. When I get back, we’ll go on a joint trip.”

After Petra left the room, I shook out my stiff muscles. An outing? That was unexpected. I had been prepared to spend the rest of the day in the “Standing Inspection Position.” Maybe I had passed the first test.

I put on my clothes – or rather, what was left of them – because my bra, panties, top, and jewellery were missing. Naked under my winter jacket, I waited anxiously to see what was in store for me. “Hopefully nothing in public,” I thought, because I knew that’s where I was most likely to fail. It was one thing to feel like an inferior, horny slut and a totally different thing to display my inferiority and submission in front of an audience.

Petra finally appeared, already dressed in an elegant jacket and boots.

“Let’s go!”

I turned toward the door.

“Wait!”

The command sounded sharp. I was confused. She had said herself that we should get going.

“Do you really want to leave that puddle on the floor? Do you expect me to clean it up? How rude!”

I didn’t have anything on hand to wipe it up with, and I was pretty sure that wasn’t what Petra was expecting. I got down on all fours in front of the puddle and lapped up my pussy juice.

“How delightfully disgusting you are. Wonderful! Follow me!”