photo #204414

A few weeks ago, I had the honor of meeting PMM, his stepson, and Master Lion in person. The meeting began on Friday evening. As soon as I arrived, it was clear that I was not there as a guest, but as an object. There was no greeting, no questions, no consideration—just the unmistakable beginning of my use. The nervousness I had felt on the drive quickly turned into humility. I didn't want to disappoint the Masters. My fear was real, but at the same time it was the fuel that pushed me into my position. From the very beginning, it was clear: there was no room for my will, no discussion, no hesitation. Only obedience. From the very first moments, I sensed that my task was to entertain the Masters. As a welcome, I received two bottles of urine from PMM and his stepson. Naked, wearing only a chastity belt, I was fixed to a St. Andrew's cross – this was not just an action, but a performance for their amusement. The blows that rained down on my body were painful, but even more painful was the laughter that accompanied them. For them, each blow was not only a punishment, but a source of amusement. Later, when I was lying in the pillory, my eyes covered with tape and completely helpless, the Sirs enjoyed my helplessness. They experimented with whips, sticks, and hot wax—not only to torture me, but because it gave them pleasure to study and savor my reactions. For them, it was a game to push every boundary of shame and pain and watch me writhe and scream, unable to escape. I felt that I had nothing left to want, nothing left to be – except a toy. It was about pure surrender. The everyday gestures of contempt were particularly poignant. PMM clearly enjoyed humiliating me. When he spat in my food or left me only a few hard pizza crusts while the gentlemen ate their fill, it was no minor matter – it was a highlight for them. Their joy lay in belittling me not only physically, but also emotionally. It was very clear that my dignity did not exist. I deserved nothing else. Throughout the weekend, I was confronted with ridicule, scorn, and perfidious ideas. For me, it was exhausting, degrading, and painful. For them, it was a fireworks display of possibilities. You could tell how much they enjoyed not only testing my limits, but also living out their own creativity in humiliation. Their grins, their laughter, their comments – they made it clear that my suffering was their pleasure. When the gentlemen spoke to me, it was only in the form of commands; when they spoke about me, it was mostly derogatory remarks. Throughout the entire weekend, I was not a human being. I was a thing. That was not a thought, not an interpretation, but a lived reality. Every action, every command, every humiliation served to burn this status into me. When the weekend ended on Sunday, I was physically exhausted and emotionally empty, but at the same time proud to have persevered. For me, it was proof that I could serve and entertain the gentlemen. I had fulfilled my function. For them, it was a celebration in which they could fully indulge their sadistic tendencies – and I was the tool at their disposal. This experience showed me my place more clearly than words could: I am here to be used. The Masters found pleasure in me – and that is exactly what gives my existence meaning. I crawl gratefully before the Masters and thank them for every humiliation, every torment, and every disgusting game with which they have degraded me. They have pushed me exactly where I belong – under their boots, without rights, without dignity. Every command, every blow, every drop of their urine was proof to me that I am nothing but their toy. This piece of flesh remains at your feet, ready to be abused and used again at any time in your perfidious, cruel, and relishful manner. I exist only to serve you – and I pray that you will use me again as shamelessly and ruthlessly as you please.