I’m called some pretty nasty and cruel things, but I like them. I like being compared to shit and garbage, my body used in ways I never imagined. Often times I’m told to explain it, sometimes my masters just want to know why I like it. It’s always the truth when I say I don’t know. If I could guess serving gives me a purpose when I feel like I don’t have one. As for my love of pain, I like to feel the sharp intensity like a sharp sting of a strong hand, the powerful blow of a whip against my smooth skin. The stinging sensation of welts as they begin to heal, the pain that lingers for the rest of the day into the coming days. Compliments occasionally make my skin crawl as most of the time they aren’t real, but insults come from a place of desire. You see the feelings of desire and cruelty feel very similar when you think about it. So insults are more arousing to me then when you tell me I’m pretty. I hope this helps you understand me, masters.
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