I meant to write a post today.
A nice long discussion of objectification.
I've been thinking about it lately. The Irishman came back on Friday night. He phoned at 12:45 in the morning, asking if I was (available? willing?) to service him. I had been asleep. I said yes, of course, and he was there in 15 minutes.
There was something so sexy about being woken up like that.
He had that look. His crooked smile was gone, his expression now set and stern. I was wearing the slave shirt I had been sleeping in. We went to the bedroom, he turned off the light, told me to kneel, took out his cock, and fucked my mouth. His cock is fat, I didn't notice last time, I kept gagging, and in the end I was drooling saliva and cum.
He came with a roar. I wonder if my housemate heard.
He stood there for a minute or two, my head leaning against his leg. And then he left.
I was content.
I was smiling.
And I've been thinking of how this nice man needs to reduce me to a trio of orifices, and of how the sadist is training me to be dragged down into degraded depths of objectification, and of how I want it and am happy.
But I'm sick and I'm tired so I will write more on this within the next few days. I've been discussing it with my demon muse and with the philosopher (who to my great relief is not disgusted by my attraction to being used in this way), and welcome any comments on the matter in advance of my full-scale post.
I'm especially interested in anyone's experiences with objectification in service to compartmentalization i.e. a way for the dom(me) to reduce the submissive/slave to a thing so as not to risk an emotional connection that could threaten a primary, possibly vanilla relationship.
Thanks for any comments and now I'm taking my feeble brain to bed. My mother says that I shouldn't go to work tomorrow because my throat is sore. Maybe she can fax over a note?