The Renunciation of O

First came the discipline.

I had been naughty, pretty much from the moment I had woken up that morning. There had been a gentle breeze floating in through our open window, and in the golden morning glow, my sleepy eyes were hypnotised by the slow swaying of the Norfolk pines outside our window. As the last few days of summer passed, the breeze each morning because cooler than the days before, and as it spread its tendrils over my naked body, I became more aware of every part of me: bare shoulders, distended nipples, wriggling toes.

But it wasn’t my job to luxuriate lazily. It was my job to worship my owner. Like a fervent sinner clinging to salvation, it was my duty to devote each waking moment to my master.

He watched me under hooded eyes as I neglected my duties and lingered under the silky sheets. I had failed before my day had even begun.

He didn’t say anything though. He allowed me to come to awareness slowly. When I looked him in the eyes, I knew I’d fucked up royally.

The results of my laziness and neglectfulness were a bit over the top in my opinion: blackout contact lenses, to remind me that I was never to look a better in the eye. And strict bondage to remind me that the only freedom I was allowed was what he granted me. And a caning that resulted in red, painful stripes all over my ass.

A loose rope around my throat, he dragged me to the shower. Shoved down hard on my knees, I found his cock and held him in my mouth until commanded to suck. Arms and elbows tight tight behind my back, he propelled me with a thick fist in my hair, pulling me off and slapping me across the face - hard - when he felt my teeth before shoving my throat right back on his cock.

He came on my face. Usually, I would thank him for using me, but I was frightened that I wasn’t meant to speak after my transgressions that morning. So I didn‘t. But turns out, that was the wrong assumption. So a penis gag was locked in my mouth, thick and chunky on my tongue. I wasn’t allowed to shower myself, so I was to wear his cum all day.

In silence and darkness, I waited for his next command, knees slowly bruising from the pressure of hard tile on bone. When next he ordered me to stand, I struggled with numb limbs, and it was yet another strike against my name.

That did it. Next thing I knew, I was wrapped up in a tight armbinder and breath-stealing corset. Pinched nipples dangling clamps, and - to remind me of my place - a teasing dildo and anal plug I was to retain all day.

He didn’t touch me again that day. Just dragged me from room to room, shoved down on my knees each time and caned whenever they weren’t open wide enough. And yet, being ignored and treated like the object I was becoming was enough to content me.

He didn’t allow me to eat that day. I had a feeling the lesson he wanted to teach my holes was that their purpose was to be stuffed full whenever he so wanted. After hours, it started to get painful. My jaw was throbbing, my ass clenching, but despite the pain, my cunt remained wet. By evening’s end, my juices were running down my thighs, leaving a small puddle wherever I went.

My final placement that night was on the floor beside his bed. Only good girls got the privilege of sleeping on the same mattress beside him, but it was clear I was no longer that good girl. Instead, a leather collar was locked to my neck, and a tickling chain connected me beside him on the floor. My arms were finally released from the binder, but they weren’t free for long. Instead, I was bitch tied: wrists to shoulders, ankles to thighs.

The dildo was removed. I moaned like the whore that I was, aching for him. Aching for any kind of touch. The blindness made my skin so sensitive.

A light brush of his fingertips on my nipples was enough for my empty cunt to clench. Hard. He propped me up like a bitch, resting on elbows and knees. Slowly, his cock entered me, then he fucked me hard and fast.

My owner knew just when to pull out to leave me on the edge. Whimpering and out of my mind with arousal, he shoved me on my back to cum yet again on my face.

Then nothing. I heard the bed creak with his weight, then moments later, his heavy, slow breathing.

Used, then discarded and ignored, his hot, wet cum slowly drying on my face, I sighed into my gag with contentment. Though my clit was throbbing, begging me for release, I felt fulfilled and reminded of what I was: a hot, wet, devoted sleeve for his cock. Though markedly less comfortable than his bed, I realised I felt much more relaxed and restful on the floor than I did beside him on the overstuffed mattress. I was not made for comfort and luxury. I was for austerity, duty, discipline, and denial.