Trapped Between Her Legs

Comes alive and makes me shiver, despite myself. Makes me go all wet and sloppy. Makes me reluctantly open my hole and invite them in, while my mistress moans and writhes with pleasure.

Oh God, how I hate those moments!

You, sat so comfortably at your tablet screen, reading my pathetic story from the safety of your own body, you’ve no idea what humiliation is.

You can’t possibly know, until you’ve been debased and abused as I have in my new body, forced to endure things no human being has ever endured, to feel men’s fingers slip inside you. To see their big cocks, thick and bulbous and ready for sex, looming up before you, almost as big as you are.

To feel yourself open up obediently, to let them slip their dicks in and violate you, before finally squirting their seed, letting it mingle with your juices, while the love of your life moans and whimpers and finally giggles with happiness.

That, my friends, is humiliation.

And the worst part is: I enjoy it. On a purely physical level, you understand. Mentally, I scream and pray and beg for this not to happen. But outwardly…

Well, let’s just say that sometimes, even when I feel like crying, I have to stop myself from thinking about how good it all feels.

My new body, you see, was built for pleasure. When God, or evolution, or whatever created it – created me – he did so for three reasons only. For urination. For giving birth…

…and for procreation.

The second, I am pleased to say, hasn’t happened yet. The first. Well. I’d rather not talk too much about that, if you don’t mind.

(Except to say I’m glad it always happens in the near dark. Glad the angle my mistress sits at means I’m lost in the gloom of the toilet bowl, looking down at its impossibly vast porcelain cliffs; even as part of me is forced to relax – the part I think of as my ‘mouth’ – and I feel that hot, warm jet go streaming out, hear it pattering into the water below, while my mistress sighs with happiness at the misery she’s inflicting on me.)