I was standing in front of my mirror, squirming, near desperate. Looking at myself gagged, marked with FIST ME above my pussy and on my ass cheek. Knowing what was coming and how it would feel. There was the scent of ginger—a reminder of what would happen if I didn’t succeed this task.
The first step of the task didn’t take me too long—inserting the fisting dildo in my pussy five times. The second part took me longer than I expected after the experience earlier today, partly because my ass is apparently very resilient (and what a strange word to use in this context
) and partly because of my standing position. Seven minutes to succeed step 1 and 2 of Blue’s task. One more minutes to get 5 fingers inside of my pussy, though not very deep. Sir told me to take out the fisting dildo and to replace it with the large plug, to lay on my back in front of the mirror. I realised his delightful interpretation of Blue’s reward the moment he ordered me to insert the fisting dildo in my pussy and to fuck myself slowly.
He asked me if it was enough. All I knew was that it wasn’t, though I lacked the presence of mind to figure out what I did need. Faster had me moan in pleasure. The permission to edge, the gift of words it was granted with…they made me soar. Got me to edge in seconds. And again. Left me so very grateful and happy. And again, again and again. After, I looked at myself in the mirror and all I saw was happy contentment, a submission so deep it left me heavy-lidded, and belonging.
I had the choice to stop there or do one more task. One my mind had rebelled against for days now—not because of a particular difficulty, but because of words. Simple words I was supposed to write. I knew I’d need to be deeply submissive to complete that task. And I was. So I continued.
Time during those twenty minutes in the corner, kneeling, gagged, clamped and plugged, moved in a strange way. Slow and calm and yet it never felt like it dragged on. I knew the hardest part of the task was still coming and I found my resistance ebb away. There was acceptance that I’d made a mistake—accepting a deal before I knew what line my dare giver would make me write. There was resolve to perform the task perfectly—to serve Sir to the best of my ability, and maybe less gracefully, to save my pride. And flowing from those emotions was calm.
I sat down, freed from the gag and clamps, to write the
line ‘
I am a stupid whore, I am a useless slut, I do not deserve to cum’ twenty times. I’d expected to feel the urge to rebel again while writing this line that had made me angry from the second I first read it. Instead, I found there was no rebellion, only a sense of amusement. First and foremost, because I knew the statement, the sentiment was
abundantly wrong. There was not even a single doubt in my mind, not one part of me that accepted those words to be true. And that was a relief. Second, because I know that Sir does not believe these words either. And most amusing, third, because writing these words meant that Maddog2048 voted for me to cum. I can honestly say I grinned every time I wrote down the last part of that statement.
Another discovery—even while mindlessly content and deeply submissive, I may still have a mind of my own.