How Selfish It Was

How Selfish It Was

I have been permitted to write this first paragraph using normal grammar to explain the fact that I do not otherwise use proper grammar in referring to myself.  To even think the word I gives me a strange feeling in the marrow of my bones.  It was years ago you see, that my humanity was taken from me.  I surrendered in a way that seems logical by definition in its demand that I no longer refer to myself, or even think of myself as, a person.  Since I am now an object, chattel of limited value, an animal, I think of myself as an it a thing to be used, or not, by my owners or their agents.  By the end of this sentence, I will no longer refer to myself as an I, instead it will refer to itself as just what it is, a thing, and use the proper words to do so. 

Ahhh.  What a relief.  To write of itself as other than an it, is stressful, reminding it of the way it used to think when it was a person, and the nightmarish pain that it now associates with the struggle it put up in fighting its surrender.  You see, it's not that it lives without pain--on the contrary, it lives with pain every moment of its life.  Just that it understands now that pain, abuse, degradation, humiliation, torture, punishment, service, and solitude are the states of existence that it was meant to experience at all times, and thus it is if not satisfied, accepting, of its lot.

It has been 7 years since it has had an orgasm, and 7 years since it had its clit pierced with an incredibly thick unbreakable, seamless, titanium ring, deadening it.  Ten years ago it surrendered, and its owners had been kind, too kind no doubt.  They used to grant it 1 orgasm every year, on the birthday of its most immediate owner, Sir, a German Shepherd. However on Sir's 3rd birthday, as it was being ass raped by Sir, his knot expanding its sphincter to the point that it actually grunted, despite its prior training to be absolutely silent at all times, it had a multiple orgasm, when only one had been granted. 

It was not especially yelled at, beaten or degraded as punishment after it came more than once without permission, for these things were an every day aspect of its life already.  The norm.  Additional indignities could not have changed its life in any discernible way.  Instead when its orgasms were finished and it was laying on the cold stones, ragged of breath and barely conscious one of its owners spoke to it. 

"How many orgasms did you just have?" came the hollow, dead-pan voice of the female Person.  It did not speak, for it had not done so in 3 years.  Instead it held up 4 fingers, then 5, with a semi-confused look upon its face to indicate it wasn't sure, although certainly the answer was more than one.  The Person snapped her fingers, slapping her thigh once, and it immediately pushed itself from the stone floor, scrabbling to heel at her right side, one riding-crop's-length distant from her right ankle, as precisely as it could.  It followed her into The Room.

Upon crossing the threshold into The Room its heart rate climbed and it experienced the feeling of dread that it always did when things were about to change for the worse.  Rare as that was.  It peed the floor and wasn't told to lick it up.  Its owners seemed to understand that this sort of thing was inevitable.  The hiss of gas escaping its highly pressurized state was heard as it was instructed to hold the mask over its face and breathe deeply.  Which it did, with the brief reward of sleep. 

When it awoke it no longer had a cunt to speak of.  It was explained that its inner pussy lips had been shaved away completely, while the edges of its outer lips had been quickly bifurcated, then pressed together, quaterized, and finally stitched up, right to its pee-hole.  A tiny hole that urine escaped from painfully, as well as period blood, was left to in place of its cunt. Its clitoris had effectively been destroyed.  Its clitoral hood had been excoriated, and its fair sized clit had a huge hole punched through it.  Where nerve endings and flesh once were, now there was the seamless titanium ring. 

As it crouches now, chained by the ring in its septum to the ground, facing a well lit mirror, crying, it wishes for the millionth time that it hadn't been so selfish on Sir's 3rd birthday.  How stupid it had been.  How dumb.  How selfish.  Its bald head and eyebrow-less face gleaming in the mirror, doubled the amount of tears running down its face.  What a dumb and selfish cunt it had been, and how generous its owners were at one time.