alliradaye: The day started out like any other.“May I pee please,” I asked him, as I do
alliradaye: The day started out like any other.“May I pee please,” I asked him, as I do now that I need his permission to pee when I’m at work. “No,” he replied. That’s fairly par for the course, and I settled back to wait as patiently as possible a while longer before asking for permission again. But then…“Another girl messed something up. And you’re going to pay for it.”“Oh?”“You can’t pee. For a while.”And just like that, my day changed directions in a flash, and I couldn’t breathe but for the sharp pang of searing humiliation and dizzying arousal I felt at this new degradation. I work so hard not to earn any punishments of my own, I really do. But with one mistake by another girl and one decision on his part, none of my efforts mattered. Plus, I got the unsettling sense that he didn’t particularly care about punishing me in that moment: I was a just tool with which he was making this other girl feel remorseful for her mistake. The injustice was intoxicating.“What would you say if I told you that your suffering is making her wet,” he asked me an hour later. It took immense effort not to whimper aloud at work. It took even more not to trickle pee down my legs at my desk.“I feel pathetic because knowing my suffering aroused someone makes me feel like I’m doing something right.”“You are doing something right,” he said. “You’re suffering.” He says that more often these days - that I’m meant to suffer, that my purpose is to suffer. Then he sent me off the bathroom, not to pee but to show him my predictably soaked cunt.It physically hurt to be in the bathroom without permission to pee. I looked longingly at the toilet, so close but made inaccessible to me by his say-so, and returned to my desk after taking the photo. I’m meant to suffer; my purpose is to suffer. He says so. I believe him more and more and more.Later that evening, I couldn’t help broaching the topic again. “If I mess up and cum, would you punish another girl instead or is this a one-way thing,” I asked. I wasn’t hopeful about his response, but I had to ask. What if I had found a loophole?“Definitely one way. You’re the omega. You know that. It’s where you belong. At the bottom of the pile. Greedily sucking the leftover cum and sweat from those above you and thanking them for it.”I couldn’t deny that his answer rang true to my soul.“How did it make you feel,” he asked.Dismissively degraded. “Is that why you were so wet?”Yes.“Perhaps I’ll make you the whipping girl.”Oh god. Please. Devotional Training: Strive to be the omega girl. -- source link