“Own your own business!” they said. “It will be fun!” they said. “You won’t have to sleep with your boss for a raise!” they said. And so, Trebuchet Tramps was born. My very own maid service; sexy women, clad in whatever the customer wished, or didn’t. I was powerful, successful, and adored.
Men compliment me day in and day out. “Congratulations,” they tell me. “You’re such an empowered woman.” Empowered, yes. Submissive sluts hold all the power. Well I’ll bark orders like the meanest bitch you ever did meet all day long, but when I come home, I crawl through our door on my knees to You, Master, I know You’ll be there, waiting for Your fucktoy. My collar in one hand, and your paddle of choice in the other.
I know I’m to present myself to You immediately, as you clamp my steel slave collar around my pale little neck. I follow My Master, staying on all fours like a good slut should, and I don’t even make a sound as You throw me over the arm of Your favorite easy chair.
I’m practically begging at this point. I need release, because I’m a worthless bitch born to serve You. I count and thank You for every single time you land a heavy hit on my thick ass. Before you know it, you’ve gone from warming my bottom to a nice salmon pink, to staring at fire truck red. The welts are in full bloom, as is my dripping cunt.
The tears are pouring from my eyes, and yet I beg for more. My pussy is a river. You give it a hard slap, and I scream, and I thank You. Because this is what it means for me to be empowered. And this is exactly what I, Your filthy whorish tramp, deserve.
Tracy
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