Scene 2
The dripping of his cold piss on my leg brought me out of my melancholy state. I hate when I become so self absorbed in my shame.
The ache deep in my balls reminds my that I still want to cum even though my cock resembles a minced up hot dog in it's current state. Even when he is punishing me I want him. I think I prefer when he is angry with me because Master gets so intent in making his disappointment known. I have been earning these punishments more in the last few months.
I know Master does not owe me an explanation for anything; I know this. Those many years ago I agreed to this, his sole decision making ability until he ends it. Back then it seemed so sexy. The sex was so amazing. The pure sexual charge of being for someone else's will. These many years later it has lost its appeal. All that is requested of me these days is to clean his home, excel in my profession, and to be the pretty trinket on his arm when he conducts his meetings.
I know I should consider myself lucky to be able to work and for the opulence I am allowed to live in. But lately I have been so aware of the fact that every penny I make is placed into his bank account. I have given everything to him in the last 5 years. Everything and I am lucky to get a kick in the leg for a floor, which has a little bit of dust on it. He buys my clothes, makes me lists of what food to buy. Every part of my life is regulated. I know I should consider myself lucky, but I cannot shake this deep sadness mixed with sexual frustration.
Getting up proves to be a little tricky. My leg is sore and my balance is totally off. The dirt and crumbs on the floor feel like sharp daggers reminding me of my misdeed. Washing my head and face in the sink is a welcome relief with the apple dish soap. I dry off on a hand towel I keep in a drawer next to the sink.
Opening the fridge I reach for my usual apple juice after a session and the look of it totally turns me off. I reach instead for the orange juice and pour a glass, taking a straw from the cupboard. It is all so stupid because I am unable to suck anything but this gag. Leaning backwards over the sink is a feat, but doable. The cold acidic flow feels amazing running over my face with only a small trickle really making it down my throat. It was how Master use to feel, running down my throat.
I make sure the glass is spotless from it's washing and I replace it. As Master always says, there is a place for everything and if it is out of place there is no need for it, the mantra prattling in my mind. The cleaning supplies are in perfect order by color of the container and where it is to be used in the house. I grab the Pine Sol, broom, brushes, rags and a bucket. Turning, the little spots of piss grabbed my attention. I realize I have to do these floors as well.