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You're going to the bottom tonight, bitch. I do mean the bottom. By the time I'm finished, you won't have even a whimper left in you. You'll service me and service me, and it still won't be enough. Because you just don't have what it takes. Do you? My nose flattens, my cheeks squash, my mouth splays out streaking saliva across the tile.
Where it belongs! Now, I asked you a question! Answer me! I try to form words acknowledging my worthlessness, but my lips are mashed into the floor and I make only idiot noises. He punishes me for my failure to answer by rubbing my mouth back and forth, shouting, "Lick it! Lick the floor! Like a whore! What Master and I do is actually rather carefully choreographed. He wants to use his strength on me, and I want him to use it. I don't fight him, but I always tense, like an animal at bay, so he can force me to submit.
I know his strength and he knows what I can take, so neither of us gets hurt. And if he did hurt me, it would cause him a whole lot more pain, emotionally, than it would me. He has a very gentle temperament. There's nobody kinder. Outside a scene, he would wait on me if I asked which I don't. But it's my peculiarity that I'm excited by being degraded. Degradation creates a glow in my loins and brings healing to my heart. And it's Master's peculiarity that it excites him to step outside his normally quiet personality now and then and crush a woman.
Our peculiarities serve each other well. I've licked the floor as well as I can without my mouth having much room to maneuver.
