Ancilla's Dirty Diary: "The humiliation is unrelenting" (17/10/21)

It's been a mess. I've been a mess. The humiliation is unrelenting, and to think all of this began because I didn't shave my cunt.

For one day.

I've been shaving instead of waxing because all of my waxing equipment is lying packed up in a box amidst the ten thousand boxes in our temporary garage. Why do we have so much stuff? I honestly can't remember what most of it is. Well, I know the five things that I miss. I know some of it is implements of pain and pleasure, and some of it is the fucking kitchen knives I love and cannot find, and I know somewhere in there is my beloved food processor that it's getting real hard to live without (because I need to make Tahini more often than anyone can know), but what's in the rest of the boxes? I guess I'll find out in 6-8 weeks when I have to unpack them into a house that they tell me is my "permanent" residence for the next two and a half years. No one even sees the irony in it. Sometimes, with these people, I feel like the last human being in a sea of robots.

He keeps threatening that he won't let me cum the whole time we live in this city, and while I doubt that is true, I can't imagine what I will do if it is not. It's not really like I have the urge to orgasm anymore, it's been like 70 days, and anything that happens now can only be devastating, but the lower my urge to orgasm, the higher my appetite for reduction, humiliation and shame. It's higher than it has ever been before. It's like a snowball. It started because I didn't shave my cunt, and he called me a bad slave. He only said it once, but later that night, I had to repeat it a thousand times. It's like I could feel the reduction, behind my eyeballs. Something happened. Something new happened.

Well, it first happened the 6-weeks ago, but I thought it was a fluke, until it happened again. There's sort of a thematic flow in our relationship. For the most part I am his slave, and he beats and fucks me in that light, and sometimes I am a bad slave, and he corrects that by being extra horrible, but sometimes I'm a horrible slave (meaning I make like two mistakes in one day, the meaning is fluid actually, but we both know it when we're there), and when we're there he usually deems that I am unworthy, too unworthy to be his slave, and he makes me...god this is so shameful, but he makes me be his pig instead. The best I can describe that is that it's a boot camp in denial, arousal, humiliation and degradation. It used to feel kinda good, like years ago, but it's horrible, and helpless, and desperate and pathetic now. It leads to all kinds of nastiness like drinking piss and licking toilets. I keep saying that I am not that person, and he keeps reminding me that I am not, I am that pig.

Usually, he tells me when it's time. When I cannot avoid it anymore, and it's hardly a decree, he just starts calling me a pig, and I know, but the last two times (6-weeks ago, and four days ago), it's been different. For one thing I've been more fearful of being in this state, practically begging to not be put in it, and it's been a great motivator to making me behave well. On the other hand, both times, I put myself in it. I have a strange fetish for admittance that I am developing. Both times, I admitted to the need for me to be reduced, and both times it was such an emotional experience. It overcame me. I had no idea it was coming, absolutely no idea at all. I didn't just not know that I would beg to be a pig that day, I didn't even know five seconds before I said it. It was the most intense moment of internalised shame and confession I have ever experienced in my life. It was one of those moments you relive while masturbating.

I cannot explain it. I was able to explain it to him but that's largely because he was there. He could see how I went from being a diligent, sorry slave to a desperate pathetic pig in one second, with no warning, and by my own insistence. The fall was so steep, and so devoid of preparation, it's usually a decline, a slow and steady decline into the pit of shame, but this wasn't that. It was realisation and action, in one moment. I felt so strongly that it could not be avoided, that it had to happen and that I deserved it. I told him it felt like the moment right before orgasm, right before starting to cry and right before jumping out of a plane all coupled into one, and that is how it felt. It was so heady, and shameful, and reductive, and it felt like a sentence, and somehow I was the judge delivering it. Once I said it, it was written, and there was no reversing it.

I've been living with that feeling, and he's been watching me live it, and making it worse at every step. It's endless, the torment and the humiliation, and sometimes he spends hours just teasing my body until I am in a state of total incoherence. I woke up at 7 AM on this Sunday because he put me to bed with dirty panties over my face, and I couldn't focus on anything but the throbbing between my legs. I woke up to his fingers already making their way between my legs as he reminded me that pigs need to be up nice and early. Everything after that is a fog, except the warnings, I remember everything he promised he would make me do today, and this little house is too small for me to hide.