Steamy Mirrors tell the Truth
I don’t like myself. I don’t like what I see when I look in the mirror. There are even days when I avoid mirrors and I can not remember the last time I voluntarily looked at myself naked in a mirror. I know that most people have a thing or two that they don’t like about their bodies. But for me it is different. Looking in the mirror I often don’t even see myself, I just can’t connect to that body, that face, that shape.
I want different, I don’t want what I see. I don’t see myself. But there was this one time, this one time where I saw myself and I connected with the mirrored image, I saw myself for what I really am, and I liked it, and it turned me on, and it made me feel free from all the physical constraints of judgment I usually put on myself. And I am now forever aching to have that connection with that reflection in the mirror again, it was like, for once, I was myself, chained but freed, I saw it, and I liked it.
With certain Doms I enjoy degradation and humiliation, if the boundaries are set beforehand. I don’t necessarily have a lot of physical boundaries but there are some words that I’d find too hurtful to be used in any kind of play. What I really love about degradation and humiliation is that I get pushed, I get pushed to do things, to take things, that I never thought I’d be able to handle. Instead of just feeling like a submissive, bratty but eventually obedient woman, I become a piece of meat, I somewhat lose part of what is human about me. It is primal, it is rough, it is hot and I am always amazed by what humiliation and degradation can do to me, the really freaky corners of my kinks, fantasies and getting lost in a space of crazy horniness and loss of control.
He told me to take my clothes off, lay on my back and start pleasuring myself. I was willing because he had had me pinned down with words and small commands for hours now. He knew how to get me into the space where I was almost mindlessly willing, where all resistance is gone. And he never minded that I first resisted, laughed and played. The bliss that overcame us both when he finally got me to that certain space, was worthy all the work. He was taking it slow. He told me exactly what to do to which parts of my body, slow, in his pace, not the pace that I started to crave.
And one by one, he put dozens of clothespins all over my body. My breasts, my nipples, my earlobes, my lips, my belly, my sides, my toes, my thighs. I was not allowed to speak, I was to continue to do what he had to told me to. I was starting to moan from the pain, from the pleasure. “Sssshhh, little girl, you will have plenty to moan about later.”
I wanted release, so bad, but he didn’t let me. I wasn’t allowed to. But still I had to continue. He was standing now, next to the bed, sometimes leaning over to pull a clothespin here and there, and watch me squirm. He had this twinkle in his eye. I knew what was coming. I wanted it to come.
“You are such a painslut, you whore. You like it when you are getting hurt, don’t you? Mm? You like when I make you hurt. I can see it in your eyes.”
I moaned. I needed it, I needed relief. But all I could do was look at him, look him in the eyes, wanting him to observe me, to hurt me, to do with me what he pleases.
“I can’t hear you, girl. Let me help you speak.”
He leaned over my face, and removed the clothespins from my lips. “Those were the wrong kind of lips anyway.”
I squealed a little, of fear and excitement. I knew what he was going to do and my whole body started to tense. I stopped what I was doing and tried to roll away.
“Where are you trying to go? And did I allow you to stop?”
I looked at him. “No. Master. I am sorry, Master.”
“Well, continue then”, he said, while walking around the bed and then kneeling down on the bed to get a better look at the canvas he was about to play with. “Here it comes, little painslut. Are you ready?”
I was holding my breath. And there it was, that stinging pain of the clothespins, that pain that increases the longer they are in place. And they were in place, in a very private place.
“Oh, you disgusting piece of meat, I can smell you from here. I can smell how wet you are. How needy you are. I can smell the juices dripping out of you. You are ready to come, aren’t you?
“Yes, Master. Can I please come?
“No. You haven’t shown me yet what a pathetic little slut you are! You are not ready at all!”
He handed me a dildo and I automatically moved my body towards him. He laughed. “Oh, you are so needy, whore. Needy painslut. Needy whore. Needy piece of meat.” He spoke those word slowly.
He suddenly pulled my hair and I moved towards the edge of the bed. I could feel the clothespins everywhere, the pain made me moan. “I thought you liked pain, is it getting too much, you slut?
“No, Master”, I whispered.
He forced me to sit on the floor, right in front of the doors of the bedroom closet, big mirrors from ceiling to floor. “Now do it. Fuck yourself”.
I looked at him, in confusion.
“I said, fuck yourself. Do it, whore.”
I slowly followed his command and started to slip deeper and deeper into a space of total bliss. He was observing me, and laughed. “You are losing it. Look at how horny you are. Haha. You slut, you whore, you disgusting bitch.”
I closed my eyes and his words pulled me deeper, deeper into a space where there was nothing else but him and me, pain and pleasure, need and want. I was moaning, I so needed the relief.
“Open your eyes and look at yourself in the mirror. Look at what a disgusting, horny slut you are. Look at yourself fucking your wet needy cunt.”
I opened my eyes. He was standing next to me, looking at my reflection, smiling. I slowly turned my head towards the mirror. And there I was, clothespins pinching my body, naked, legs spread, holding a dildo, and with a look of bliss and intensity on my face that I had never seen before.
“Did I tell you to stop fucking yourself? I did not. Look at yourself, you dirty whore. Look at your needy cunt, and what I did to you. Look at how you are enjoying the pain, look at how you love pleasing your Master.”
And I looked. I looked at myself, my body, my face. And I saw myself. I was free, I was floating, I was out of control and not restrained, while being chained by his commands and words.
“What are you, bitch? Look at yourself, look yourself in the eyes and tell yourself what you are. What are you, girl?”
I looked at myself and I couldn’t find the words. I was so close. I was moaning. I needed relief.
“I am a whore, Master”
“No, don’t tell me, girl, tell yourself. Do it!”
“I am a whore!”, I said to my reflection. My level of arousal increased. I couldn’t hold it in. I couldn’t possibly not have relief right now. I looked at him, and he chuckled.
“Not yet. Continue. What more? What are you? Tell yourself!”
“I am a painslut!” I looked him but he pointed his head at the mirror.
“I am a disgusting needy whore. I am a painslut that needs to be hurt. I am a slut that needs to be fucked and used. I belong to my Master, and he is in control of my pleasure. I am nothing but a piece of meat, to be played with, to be used and to be denied.”
I was so focused on my own reflection, my face, letting those words sink in, and driving me close to madness of need for relief, that I didn’t see him moving closer to me. I suddenly felt his hand on mine, slowly pulling the toy out of me. He forced me on my knees and pushed my back down, and I could feel him enter me.
“Look at yourself, whore. Look at yourself while you are giving yourself to me.”. I opened my eyes again. I could see my face, close, his figure in the background. My fast breath was steaming the mirror.
“Keep your eyes open, whore. I want you to look into your own eyes when you come. So you can see what a filthy little slut you are. You are allowed to come.”
I started to moan, and when I felt his juices filling me up, I looked into my eyes, seeing my own body twitching, releasing all the tension, all the need. I looked into my eyes, and I liked what I saw. I was me, I was myself, I was free and it was beautiful.