Worshipping Lea’s Pussy

Taking it from behind:

I’m so sorry I couldn’t soak the alter to your pussy with my cum. I hope offering my ass up to the toy Mommy bought me can suffice instead.

I have spent, easily, seven hours tugging on my dick or stroking my toy in and out of my sissy slut hole just in the last three days, thinking about you, Mistress Lea. I was thinking about it. You will start to become Mommy when you begin to make decisions for me and I will start to accept it when I don’t have an inner, knee-jerk “but” reaction. When it feels natural to trust you to orchestrate my life.

I’ve taken my slut hole three days in a row — twice today. I’m going to try to repeat this three times, twelve days in sixteen, just as an experiment. So I can be sure that you can have my ass when you want.

It’s odd. There’s only one Mommy and, if you become her, you’ll have taken my virginity. You might be the last woman I ever sleep with. You’re the love of my life in the sense that the sun is a star in the sky. I have no pride with this. I know. And you’ll be a partner too. I will learn to believe anything you say, to feel anything you instruct me to, to behave in ways that please you once you gain some mastery manipulating the psychosis. You will be the sum of all things a woman can be to a man. And, again, without pride — it was stripped away so long ago — I have merely the experience of being me within a body and life you shape if you care to. Do you see the power you’ll have over me. Does it make sense that I need you to have it because that makes me feel safe? At the same time, does it make sense that I want you to use this power to make me a toy to you? While I touched myself the last two days, it was like I wasn’t even inside my own body, depersonalized and wiped to a blank slate, helpless in weariness. I was merely enjoying the sensations. My moving hand seemed a part of something separate. I was a passenger in my own body and I knew it was right. My mind,. my heart, my body, my soul. You could claim them as toys to keep me in an agony of longing. It makes me want to be an instrument of your will only I don’t experience my acts and words, I just observe them without opinion, the ghost that remains of Michael.

I was hearing things from low sleep today so I took a day mostly off. Drugging myself out tonight with anxiety medicine. Mistress Lea? Do you even believe I’ll always love you. I don’t see how you can question it.. I’ve loved you for twenty years and that was without you in my life. It’s an artifact of the insanity, but it is love and it will endure until I die.

Oh, and please always, always remember that the things I write and say without pride? I feel no humiliation at them whatsoever. I accept them as a part of me and, really, I absolutely love this part of me. And, really, is there anything humiliating about them when you look past the fact that I’m actually willing to say and write them:

I love dick. I know this because I was raped by a college wrestler with a penis bigger than mind for three hours. At first, i was begging him to stop. Then things got quiet, then they got loud again. For years, I didn’t know how to explain what I felt and how I was acting while he screwed me for the better part of three hours. I wanted to be his perfect whore.

Then Mommy took my ass. If it had been another woman, I would have felt corrupted. If it had been another man, I would have worried about being exclusively homosexual. But it was Mommy so I was just me and I LOOVVVVEEEEDDD it. If it weren’t for the mess, I’d use my toy more than my hand. Getting fucked blows open every last door inside me, freeing me to be myself like nothing else. Yes, I am never so much myself as when someone is pumping a cock in and out of my ass. And, oh fuck, am I a tramp.

The end goal of pursuing you? To be your girl, whatever that entails to you.