He calls me cunt because that's all I am to him. A cunt for him to do as he pleases with. I have no name, I have no face, I have no purpose but to serve him.
"Cunt!" he yells through the house. "Get your slutty little twat over here."
I scuttle into the kitchen where he stands, looking at me with disapproval. "What the hell is this?" he demands. I look around but am uncertain to what the problem is. Everything looks to be in place.
He grabs my hair and yanks my head downward. "This," he tells me, showing me the scuff marks on the floor. "Get down there and clean this shit up." Then he throws me to the ground, smushes me to the ground with his booted foot, and throws a wet rag on top of my naked body.
I don't wear clothes around the house, I'm not allowed. I am a cunt and that's all I am- so why would I cover that up? Why would I be modest? I do as my master tells me to and parade my shaved cunt around wherever I go. He tells me several times a day that it's the only piece of me worth a dime. And even then, it's worth just about that.
I wash the floor on my hands and knees, my blond hair dragging in the mud while my master looks on amused. It gives him pleasure to see me in pain or humiliated. I keep my body close to the floor, knowing that if I lift it too much, I will be punished. Sure enough, I am too high off the ground and his boot comes down on me once again. "I want your tits to drag bitch." I lower myself both physically and with humility. I am his cunt. I must do as he commands.
"Who's little cunt are you?" he demands, as if reading my thoughts.
"Yours Sir," I answer promptly and with, I hope, the proper amount of humility.
"And what are you?"
"Your little cunt sir. To do with as you please."
The small kitchen floor is clean now and he orders me to roll over on my back. Then he takes the rag that I have been cleaning with and wrings it out over my body. The dirty cold water trickles over my belly and back onto the floor. "What will my little cunt do for me?"
"Anything that you ask, Sir."
"Lick up that water from the floor," he directs.
I reach my tongue out, quivering. I don't want to do it, but I know I must. Just as the tip of my tongue touches the dirty brown puddle, he shoves me again with his booted foot and I sail across the floor and land unceremoniously in a heap.
"That's enough," he orders. Although his tone is still sharp, I know I have pleased him by my willingness to obey him unquestioningly, "Now, mop it up with your hair. Keep your body low. Your tits to the floor," he reminds me.
As I use my shiny blond hair to sop up the muddy floor, I can't help but cry. I know this was meant to be better than being forced to lick the dirty floor clean with my tongue. Certainly, it is better. But I feel so humiliated, dragging my body over the floor and using my hair as a rag. Fat tears run down my face. I know I am not allowed to wipe them away without his permission so I continue the job he has assigned me.
"Aww. Is the little cunt crying?" he asks in mock sympathy. His voice is full of scorn and contempt. "I love a nice wet cunt. You know I do. Cry for me cunt. I want you dripping wet when I fuck you."