piiggy4mistress


	piiggyyslavee Female Submissive, 28, Virginia Beach, Virginia

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	About 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.

So much time has passed and still
You are missed, Amante.

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.

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.

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.

I wasn't in the mood to write a journal entry now.. And I do it.
Earlier, in a rush, just about to leave the house. Late. I read a request. Amante wishes me to masturbate and cum immediately.
That timing was bad. It was awful. But ...

2 minutes later, I change rooms. Kneeling on the floor with the laptop above. Looking at her photo.
The icecube tray isn't available so a condom is on me as I rub myself.. collecting my orgasm soon later.
A thin green shiny string ties the condom, sealing it tightly. Legs shaking.

Duty, perhaps.
I don't know myself well enough...

Animal.

The purpose of an ice-cube tray is... to grow flowers. Ideally, a different species of flower is to stem from each one.

Or an ice-cube tray is designed to freeze men's souls inside.

amante will collect a man's soul in each cell.
grow them like flowers.

I'm not so docile, especially over the internet.
In real life, I might be the most docile of them all. Here on the net, I don't follow orders. Even now, if it seems like docility, it isn't exactly that.

But I got the tray....

Good hairs go to heaven.
3 from each brow.
A white paper.
Tweezers.
Amante asks...
So six extra hairs joined the others.

My muscles almost ache.

You (or rather, me, I'm talking about me) are in a bathroom stall. You didn't come here to pee. You don't even face the toilet. You listen carefully. You open your trouser buttons... You don't know if you're doing it because you want to, or if it's because she wants it. The line is there but blurred. Either way it amounts to the same: You're going to masturbate now and you'll be thinking of Amante the entire time. But we're not talking about you here. This is about me. Now I'm standing up with my legs crouched at the knees. Jerking my cock off. Ohh orgasm, come quick!! Not a sound in the stalls. A quiver cascades through my stomach. An abyss opens up. You shouldn't be reading this journal. I never wanted to make this public. I'm fiercly independent. And private! If you're not me and not Amante, do me a favor, go somewhere else. Your favorite programme might be on, right now, on television! Go there instead! I'm tensing up from writing this journal. Yes, I was asked to masturbate yesterday in a men's toilet, like a pig I guess. This animal hornily stood, slightly crouched, facing a toilet door and jerked his cock off while imagining a very different scene. The animal came on its paw, whispering "Thank You, Amante".

A dirty scene..

And today Amante had a new request. Masturbate now, the message read. Except she has a very sweet way of commanding it. And I did it again. Odd, to have someone else decide for you when to masturbate. It's not a question of mood anymore. I don't belong to anyone yet. More a cat than a pig. An alley cat. Or a pampered home kitten, imagining itself to be a thin street cat. And today, at home, oblivious to the phone, to going out, I take care of my cock again. It's time to rub it again. Not my timing. Amante's sweet timing. All this is a mixture. Sadness, delight, horniness, dirtyness. But my lips aren't smiling now at all... I feel like shit. And saying this.. I want to be spat on, delicious spit spraying on my face.. ohh how beautiful!!! Kisses and spitting. How I'd love that!

Amante is a Circe.
I'm half-human and half-animal.

Is it difficult for a Circe to transform a human into an animal? Or an animal into a human?
This Circe has begun a new transformation and I'm becoming an animal...

Being an animal (or is that a beast?) is less about appearences, more about behavior.

What will I be like as an animal?

Will I be transformed into just one or will I, at a click of her fingers, be a different animal any day of the week?

You don't have to read this (in fact, I'd rather you didn't!) but I do have to write it. Recently, I've been observing some rules. They're private and I have to make them public. Hard for me to make my fingers type.. I have my own rule which I always instinctively follow: I don't go for any kind of online d/s. I don't follow commands. I don't strip on cam. I'm not that cheap. But now, recently, I 'met' someone and she has some requests... a "test" and other wishes. I'm following them. It's not my typical style but for now I'm trying. I'm not 'owned' .. how could I be when I didn't even meet her? But still, here I am, doing what Amante wishes. Showing it off in public makes me feel obscene; embarassed and kind of horny for exulting in it. And now, having typed this little confession; in this moment, I want to touch my cock, just to press on it for a moment. I can't!!!! This keeps happening to me and I hate it. I'm only to touch it when I intend to fully masturbate and then I must continue rubbing it until I cum. Of course, I am obligated by these rules to look at Amante's photos or at least to think only of her while I masturbate. Then I thank her, vocally.
My cock belongs to me but this rule makes me feel confounded, less than %100 certain... Last incidence... I'm in a hotel room's bathroom. Looking at the window. I whip my cock out and rest it on the cold marble by the mirror as I stand and gaze at my eyes and eyebrows. I begin to think of Amante and I'm horny. Maybe I already knew I'd be typing about this.. and knowing it hurt me horribly, even now it sticks in my belly like a wound but for a few minutes knowing I'd tell it publicly made me horny.. bathing in shame made me aroused.. I flick in my mind of photo after photo of hers and of some of her words.. I raise my leg up to aim my cock at the white bathroom sink when my cum shoots out. I moan, I groan, and as I orgasm, I whisper: thank you, amante. And I mean it.

When it's done I feel like shit. Hollow. Empty and with a bleeding wound in my belly. Ashamed of myself. I hate that. I feel like I've done something illicit. Like I've fucked a girlfriend's best friend (and not for the first time!). Awful. I don't know how long I'll keep this up. This is the first time I'm following orders over the internet. Probably the last time too.

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About piiggy4mistress