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piiggy4mistress
Hetero Male Submissive, 38, Israel 
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piiggy4mistress

Please: No findoms and no tribute-dommes (abandon all hope ye findoms who enter here).

About me: Sometimes I feel quite pleased with myself and at other times I feel like such a lousy, nasty, depraved, useless man.

I hate being such a wimp.

The polarity between the way I am and the way a Dominant woman is, excites me.

 

I love being called a pig and would adore having a woman slap my face. I used to go to romania a lot. I was in love with a powerful, cruel, married woman in bucharest who cheated on her husband with me and also humiliated me. It was my worst degradation when she motioned to her luggage, saying "my bags" and as she put her key in the door, told me without even looking at me that I'm such a useless, lousy, nasty little piece of shit that I should always carry her bags. And also when she'd make me wait for 30 minutes in the street for her to visit me. And when she'd eat pizza and rub her dirty hands on me as if I'm trash. She did this outside. Everyone could see.


Ever since then I have a terrible addiction to nasty, ruthless women and want to worship such a woman.


11/13/2014 6:55:20 PM: So much time has passed and still You are missed, Amante. 6/25/2009 1:43:30 PM: my stomach is in turmoil. It's not from what I did (I think). It's from writing it. I wonder whose eyes are reading this journal. Two pairs of eyes? Twenty pairs? I don't write this with hopes of fascinating Anyone. I write it because I have to. It's simple, Amante's rules, which I accepted. What's bizarre is to think of the following images being inserted, popping up like those 3d children's books, into strangers' minds. Shocked. I once climbed on a ledge and looked down. I don't think I was scared. Fear came later when I pictured what I did.Amante returned. A task  - left in the air before she left - returned to my life too. I was pushed so far. Knots in my stomach again. But damn it I determined to fulfill this wish. I knew I can - this one - even if it's taking me precariously close to my limits. Do shopping clerks matter? Do crowds?I was at a mall earlier. The last day in which I was allowed to do it. A pet shop.Caged birds. Pet food. Pet owners. Pet-shop clerks. And me. One of several.I'm there to check out leather dog collars and if a clerk asks if I need help, I'm to engage her assistance. This was pre-written and the scene followed the script as though the directoress was present. I hardly had enough time to glance around to see where the collars are when the voice asks "do you need any help?".I look: She's blonde. Short. And she *is* talking to me. I did as I was told by Amante. The clerk takes me to the dog-collar area, where I check them out, looking for studded leather ones. I tell her it's for me. I look in her eyes as I do so.  Surprisingly, I don't feel embaressed. And as for her eyes: Well, they're blank. Uncomprehending. We find a suitable collar but: "This is very long!" I say.. She disagrees and I explain it may be too long for my neck (pointing to my it as I speak). I already know that in a few seconds, while any number of men and women mill around, I'll be trying the collar on my neck.Here the order of what happened next is confused: She either first asked me why I want it for *me* or else her first comment was - with a tiny smile, I think - 'you can try it on'. I reached out for the collar. What do I feel?? My hand, forced steady by sheer will, close to trembling and my mind  shutting out everything. Climbing on a mountain and not looking down. This is auto-pilot. I'm aware and have tunnel vision at the same time as my hand reaches out. The collar is behind some others. I hand the clerk my music-player and earphones to hold so my hands will free up. I ask her nicely to do so and she giggled (at her standing there holding my things? at what I'm about to do?).  Somehow, I don't care. She is a spectator. Her voice is faint. The collar seems illuminated.As I try the collar on for size, strapping it around my neck for Amante, I see other people through the corners of my eyes. I can't hear anything. The collar fits nicely and as I - with slightly fumbling fingers - latch it on, I say 'ohh, it's not too long'.To her question of why actually do I want a collar for myself, my lines follow a form I envisioned but they curve beyond my expectations."It's for a woman.. she wants me to have one.. " (this was envisioned beforehand. Twice. A thought and a wish, creating another thought, decision and wish and giving rise to a palpable action).{I was frightened beforehand of two things: of admitting this to a shop attendant with others near and of trying the collar on in public. My fear pulled my nerves almost to snapping point.}My next words surprised me. They came almost casually, simply: "this is what she wants and I'll do it; this is how it goes."The shop-attendant was taken back at this. I follow by asking if they have dog tags. "yes" she says, slightly nervously. I enquire: can they engrave them? No, she says, but I can have them engraved at the jewlery store nearby. I was instructed not to purchase the collar today and to find a shop that can engrave stainless steel dog tags on both sides. I thanked her and left. She seems unable to take anything in; vagually puzzled and slightly derisive. I search for another pet-shop. None are around. My ears are buzzing. I'm in fog. I know I should at least return there (and this *does* humiliate me) to ask her if there's another pet-shop in this big mall. I make myself go there. She's near what seem to be frogs, in another section. This time she looks like she really thinks I'm nuts as she says 'no, we're the only pet-shop here'. Somehow, again, and for the next two minutes I don't care about her opinion.2 minutes later, thinking back at at it all, my legs shake. They're still not in complete balance a quarter of an hour later. Something about all this eludes me. Some mystery I can't quite decipher. I walked on a carpet inscribed with hieroglyphs. 1/6/2009 9:47:32 AM: At Amante's request I tried (I can't write this.. turn your head away!) to drink my own liquid. The one which looks exceedingly like chardonnay.. *biting my lips* I drank a full tall glass of my urine.Unlike chardonnay, it made me gag at the last drops.It would please or break me to drink a woman's. I'd crawl begging for it. Crack under it. Be annoited by it. Or turn around. 1/3/2009 7:08:22 PM: My new year's resolutions. (I've seen people write all their private wishes. I often wondered why. You really should - right now - close your computer and do something useful instead: Your eyes are hurting this page. Right now, a loved one might be waiting for your call. Or perhaps you've run out of toilet paper (go, check!). Don't go reading my private wishes. Back to my resoultions, mundane ones. but as I've been instructed to specify them publicly (now it's silent here.. you've all gone, thanks) by Amante, here they come: To believe when I have good reason to and recognize when to press ahead all the way and when to pull back, fighting the momentum of things and cut.To have far more courage, bravery to believe in myself and in my ideas and go for them. To make all these calls that are so hard for me (Why am I scared to?) To follow through with all my crazy ideas. Yes, those insane ones. The ones I need a fellow culprit for. Or the ones I might fail in.To build up my energy. How ideal: to live every day with all my heart and hope to achieve all my dreams. To chisel out different rivulets from my river to the outside seas.Everything spirals. 12/31/2008 2:02:06 PM: A last entry for 2008.How am I dominated and controlled by Amante here?Am I even?I don't know.I was told to write this entry. I do it.I'm told to cum into ice cells as an offering for Amante. I do it.Into a condom when am far from the icebox. I rub my cock to orgasm into it, looking at Amante's picture.Some would say I'm dominated, controlled. Perhaps. I don't know. I even had to take pictures of my cock, erect and limp. I hate the flash. The camera. I perform it.I'm still unowned.
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