worthless lil painslut

my submissive life
Ad 3:
2012-08-30 15:25:55 (UTC)

Life with my Dom and Mistress

Last Friday I was unexpectedly invited out to dinner after work. I really wanted to go, but I knew it would mean violating my meal plan. I thought I would play it safe and send a text to my Mistress asking if I could eat dinner out. She didn’t reply. I went out anyway and had a delicious meal that was probably way too many calories. By the time I got home I was so tired that I went straight to bed. I hadn’t exercised that day and I forgot to send my nightly email to Mistress.

Saturday morning there was a message waiting for me – “Get your fat ass over here now!” I was in more trouble than I realized. I quickly wrote the obligatory ‘pig-slut’ on my chest and put on my trench coat to drive over for my punishment. When I got there, I was not allowed to take off my coat. Instead, my hands were immediately cuffed behind me. My Mistress took a hooded mask, with the face of an ugly pig, and yanked it over my head. She hung a sign around my neck reading, “PIG being Punished.” She then marched me outside.

I was forced to stand outside on the corner down the block from their house. I had to stand outside barefoot, naked under my coat, cuffed, hooded with a pig face, and wearing a sign announcing my punishment. I wasn’t told how long I was going to be forced to stand out there enduring my humiliation. It wasn’t a very busy intersection, but there was some traffic. Some cars honked. Some people stopped to take a picture of me. Others yelled insults. Under my mask, I felt tears running down my face. I was left there for over an hour.

When I was brought back inside the house, my coat, cuffs, and sign were removed but the hooded pig-mask was left on. My public humiliation was only a small part of the punishment I had coming to me.

I was marched down to the basement and tied standing spread-eagle. My Mistress used a cane and started to mercilessly beat me with it. She focused on my stomach and thighs. She also began to explain her ire to me. “How dare you text me with your stupid fucking request last night. You are only allowed to text me once a week, that’s it! What if I had been at work or with friends? What if someone had asked me who the text was from? My time is private and when you invade my time, you invade my privacy!” She continued caning me to emphasize her statements.

“Furthermore, what did you think you were going to accomplish? Did you really think I was going to give you permission to violate your meal plan? Did you really think I was going to give you permission to eat like a fucking cow? I go out of my way and devote my time to helping you lose weight and you jump at the first chance to stuff your fat face. Well, today you are going to realize what being a pig really costs you.” She continued the caning until my thighs and stomach were covered in welts. I was crying heavily under my pig-face.

When she was done caning me, I saw her pick up a thin belt. I thought she was going to whip me with it. Instead to put it around my stomach and pulled it tight, and then tighter, and then tighter. The belt cut into my stomach deeper and deeper until she couldn’t pull it anymore. She then fastened it closed. I felt like I was being cut in half. She asked me how it felt and I told her it was too tight. “The hell it is. This is still bigger than the size I wear the belt at. The belt isn’t too tight; your stomach is too fucking fat. Get used to the feeling of it, because you’re going to be wearing it for quite a while.” With that, she walked upstairs leaving me tied up and alone with my pain.

About an hour later my Dom came down to check on me. He laughed to see my stomach bulging out from over and under the torturous belt. He untied my ankles and wrists but left my mask and belt on. I was ordered to the ground on my stomach. He pulled my wrists and ankles behind me and quickly put me into a hogtie. He asked me how I felt. “The belt is too tight; I feel like I can’t breathe.”

“Well, if you can talk and whine about it, you can obviously breathe. So shut up and accept it. You really fucked up this time.” He went back upstairs, again leaving me alone to suffer. Everything hurt and I was feeling more and more sorry for myself. I was left to suffer in my bonds for another hour. Then they both came down to see me. I wanted desperately to apologize, but I wasn’t given permission to speak.

I was untied, but the mask and belt were still left on. My Mistress was still fuming and my punishment was not over yet. “I’m aware that you have never let my husband to fuck you in your ass before. Well, that is about to change. Only women have pussies, and you aren’t a woman. You’re a pig. So you get fucked like a pig.”

She bent me over a desk and held my arms down on it from the opposite side. My Dom came up behind me and slowly shoved his cock in my ass. I had worn enough plugs in there that it didn’t hurt too much, but it felt wrong and disgusting. My Mistress reminded me to oink loudly throughout. My Dom started slowly but at Mistress’ urging began to fuck my ass faster and harder. She screamed at me to oink louder and louder and kept telling me what a fat pig I was. The belt was still cutting into my stomach causing me great pain. It was all too much and I was soon sobbing. Mistress held up a mirror in front of my face so I could see my pig-mask and really savor the punishment. I was practically hysterical by the time it was over.

When my Dom was finished, I still wasn’t released. I was put my knees in front of a mirror. I was told I had another half hour of wearing the belt and mask and I would be staring at my disgusting pig-self for the duration. I was also ordered to keep oinking.

My sobbing slowed and eventually stopped. I was still miserable. By the time they returned for me, I felt utterly defeated. Before my Mistress removed the belt and mask, she told me what was coming next. “Your punishment still isn’t over cunt. Since you invaded my privacy with that absurd and presumptuous text message, I’m going to violate your privacy. You are going to drive home, and we are going to follow you. It’s time I saw your house and got to know what I have to work with. Now let’s go.” I was finally released from the belt and mask. It felt great to be able to take deep breaths again. I was given my trench coat and sent to my car. They followed me in theirs.

When I pulled stepped out of my car, my Mistress grabbed me by my hair and marched me inside my house. If any of my neighbors were watching, I’m sure it would have looked odd. Inside she ripped off my coat and forced me to my knees. I crawled around giving her a tour of my house, every room and closet. My Dom followed, but he had seen it all before.

She said the problem was that my house lacked any real signs that a fat, pathetic, pig-slut like me lived there. Fortunately, that could be fixed. First, she took red lipstick and wrote “FAT PIG” across all of my mirrors. Every time I looked at myself I would be reminded of what I was. Next, my Dom pulled out a folder. I was horrified to see what was inside. Inside were pictures of me being punished earlier that day. I had never even seen a camera. My Dom explained, “Since your face was covered, I saw no reason not to take some pictures of you so I could look at them later and relive your suffering. No one will be able to recognize you, so I might post some online too. While you were tied up, I printed these out as souvenirs for you.” I was mortified.

The pictures included ones of me standing on the corner in my mask and “pig being punished” sign, of me tied spread-eagle covered in welts and the torturous belt, hog-tied on the floor still in my pig-face, kneeling, and being ass-fucked! My Mistress took the photos and begun to hang them up all over my house – on my refrigerator, my kitchen cabinets, my living room, dining room, bedroom, and bathroom. She said all of this was a permanent addition to me décor. I was not allowed to remove them.

When I looked like I wanted to protest, my Dom explained. “If you are having company and want to remove the pictures and mirror writing, you must email me asking permission first. Your email must be detailed and self-depreciating. Explain who is coming over, how you know that person, when they are coming, how long they are expected to stay, and why you think they shouldn’t be shown what a fat, ugly, pathetic pig-slut you are. Most likely I will give you permission to remove or hide everything until they are gone. However, everything must be returned to exactly the way it is right now within 10 minutes of their leaving. Additionally, you will be given a self-punishment to administer for removing them at all.” I knew that meant I had no grounds to argue.

My punishment was still not over yet. My Mistress had a lot more suffering in mind for me. She explained, “Tomorrow you will go shopping. You will go to as many stores as you have to in order to find a pig keychain and a small pig statue/figurine. The keychain will replace all your other key chains so that every time you are driving or entering or exiting your house, you will have a reminder of what you are. The pig statue will go on your desk at work. Most people will just think it’s a cute little whatever. But for you it will be a constant reminder of what a pig you are.

“You will also purchase two pairs of granny-style panties. Back home, you will use a black, permanent marker to write FAT PIG on the front and back of them. I am confiscating all your other panties. You will only have your fat-pig-panties from now on. You will wear a pair one day. At the end of the day, you will hand wash the pair and hang them up somewhere prominent, in your living room, to dry. The next day you will wear the second pair. Then back to the first and back and forth and back and forth. Fat pigs like you don’t get to wear sexy panties. So don’t expect me to return your other panties to you anytime soon.

“Finally, you have lost the privilege of speaking in the first person. From now on, when speaking to either of us, in person, online, text or emails, you are no longer allowed to use the words “I” “me” or “my.” You can only refer to yourself by saying “this pig-slut.” And since you are a pig-slut and not a real woman, you can no longer use the words “she” or “her” when referring to yourself. You can only use the pronoun “it.” For instance, instead of being allowed to say ‘I thank you for beating my fat ass,’ you would say ‘this pig-slut thanks you for beating its fat ass.’ Forget even once, and your punishment will be severe. Understand?”

“Yes Mistress.”

“Speak in full sentences you dumb cunt. Do you understand the new rules?”

“Yes Mistress. This pig-slut understands the new rules.”

“Better.”

Before they left, my Dom stood behind me and held my hair firmly, holding my head in place. My Mistress stood in front of me and stroked my face. All of a sudden she pulled her hand back and slapped my face, hard. Then she did it again. She slapped both sides of my face over and over again, harder and harder. My Dom held my hair tightly, forcing me to stay still and take the slaps. Only when I was started to cry out did my Mistress determine I’d had enough and stopped.

“Don’t forget your homework tomorrow slut. And stop breaking the fucking rules!” My Mistress took all my panties in a bag. Then, with my house newly decorated, they left. I sat down and cried.

The next day I checked my email before going out to do my pig and panty shopping. I was disturbed to see that my Dom had emailed me copies of the humiliating pictures he’d taken of me. He instructed me to save them on my computer and set one as my wallpaper on my computer screen. He further advised me that whenever I was finally given permission to masturbate again, I would be required to do it while looking at one of these pictures. I would never be able to escape the reminders of my torture and humiliation.