The Musings of A Needy Slut

We all have to spend so much of our day thinking, leading, acting out the charade that we are real people with jobs and responsibilities and decisions to make. And it's exhausting.

Sometimes, I just want to switch off. To stop thinking. To let someone else think for me. To trust someone enough to give over all thought, all responsibility to them, and let myself act as an extension of their will. Lost, blissfully happy in mindless obedience to their every whim. A docile, obedient pet with no thoughts other than what her owner puts in her head.

You need to understand that I let you edge. I could lock you in chastity, forcing you to never touch again, but I understand that needy creatures perform better with edging. You edge and deny for me, because it makes you more pliable for me. It makes you more submissive, more devoted to me.

She begins her whispers as I start to wake.

Soft, melodic words and phrases capturing me in that moment where my consciousness is on standby but my mind has begun switching on.

That moment when my mind is waiting for input, expecting me to take control. That moment is when she takes the reigns. She hijacks me with her soft, velvety voice, and goes to work rewriting, reinforcing, and reconfiguring me in her image.

And with just a few minutes each morning when I'm most susceptible, her words will be entangled permanently in my mind, solidifying my training, melting my resistance, and guaranteeing another day of uncontrollable arousal.

Or maybe it’s the opposite fully awake, trembling with excitement at a single command. Instantly needy at the snap of their fingers, desperate for approval, eager to carry out humiliating tasks you once would’ve mocked without hesitation. Now you’d do anything just to earn a little attention.

Other times you can't be as certain. Are you acting of your own volition? Have you been given a command you forgot? Or are you so far gone you're shaping yourself into who they want you to become?

Things like having a cute little thing in my lap while we watch a movie. Edging them repeatedly until they can’t focus, then using numbing cream and fucking them with a dildo. Just stretching them out for the sake of doing it, because I find it entertaining.

Eating dinner at the table while they desperately hump my boot, even though they’ll never cum from it.

Edging them before going out together, promising them if they can recap our date, they can cum. Making sure their brain is cloudy and desperate the whole time, ruining any hopes of them remembering the date clearly.

Can you try to keep still please?

“Yes Sir, it's just...”

Just what?

“Just I... nnnnhhhh...”

Just what? I'm trying to relax and get this reading done for work.

“I know but your fingers...”

 What about them?

“They're edging me really, really close!”

Yes, that relaxes me. I think you knew about that.

“Yes, Sir, but-”

You want me to be relaxed, right?

“Yes Sir, but...”

But what?

“It’s just my cunt is so close and needy and aching.”

Wait. Whose cunt?

“Nnnhhh...”

Whose?

“Yours, Sir.”

So my cunt is very close and very needy and very, very aching, is that right?

“Yes, Sir. So much.”

But, is it any of your business of yours what I do with my cunt?

“Nnngh… Sir…”

I have lots of stress from my work, and I have a bunch of things I need to read through tonight. If it relaxes me to edge my leaking little cunt while I do it, is that your business?

“Nnnn. No, Sir.”

No. And shouldn’t good girls mind their own business?

“Yes, Sir.”

That’s better. Besides, even if it were your cunt, I would have thought you would want to let me edge it, and help relieve my stress. Is that not true?

“No, Sir, it is true.”

Is it really?

“Yes, Sir. It is, it’s just… I’m so close. And you never, never let me go over.”

That’s true, but that’s how I like to keep my cunt. I don’t like it having orgasms, and it’s my cunt, not yours, so that’s just how it is.

“But...”

I’m getting there. It’s true, we keep Sir’s cunt right down there between your legs and you get to feel those really big strong edges. But that just means I really really need your help, so when I edge it so so close, we work together to make sure we keep it from cumming. I can count on you, right, little helper?

“Yes, Sir. It’s just so hard…”

I know. But you’re a good girl, and I know you’re strong enough to do what Sir says. I wouldn’t make you do it if I didn’t think so.

“Okay. Okay, thank you, Sir.”

I’ll put the leash on for you.

I’ll enthusiastically offer you my tits to torture.

I’ll put the shock collar on and beg you to shock me. Even when I start to really hate it.

I’ll willingly sleep on the floor because I want to feel inferior to you.

I'll hold my mouth open for the gag, knowing I won't be able to say a word until you decide I've earned it back.

I'll edge myself over and over because you told me to stop, even when I'm crying and desperate and it feels impossible.

"You love being a doll, don't you? You're just a toy now. You were always meant for this, weren't you? So warm and soft for me, so open and easy..."

As soon as I’m unlocked from my chastity belt each week, she unceremoniously coats my clit with numbing cream. She then lets me spend the day “edging” for her amusement. Those days are the hardest. I rub and rub and rub but all I can feel is dull pressure. I’m usually dripping and crying by the end. Sometimes though, if I’ve been especially well behaved that week, she’ll fuck me with her strap. Those days are my favourite because even with my clit numb, and though I can’t cum from it, it feels so good. It’s the only pleasure I receive now.

“That’s enough, let’s see how well you’ve lubed me up.”

Her strap pops out of my mouth and I’m hoping my messy blowjob has earned me it in my needier hole. I can feel the numbing cream has taken hold, making my clit useless, but my cunt still aches desperately to be filled.

“This isn’t going to work.”

She’s stroking her cock before my eyes. My mouth instinctively opens around the tip to try again but she pulls away, out of reach.

“Your pathetic blowjob isn’t going to cut it today. I think we need something else.”

I kneel waiting, watching as she walks over to the dresser and pulls out a familiar white tube. My heart sinks. She twists off the cap and squeezes out the cream, spreading it along the length of her strap. She adds more. She’s using the numbing cream as lube.

“That’s better. Nice and wet. Get in position.”

My eyes are already watering from throating her. That makes it easier to pretend I’m not starting to cry. I turn around on my hands and knees, lower my face and lift my hips up.

The cream works fast, but it’s not instant. I feel the first thrust. By the third though, it’s just that same dull pressure again, deep but distant.

“Don’t you feel lucky?”

I sob a little, rubbing my face against the floor, but I nod. Because I did get unlocked. Because I did get almost three thrusts. Because compared to the alternative, lucky is exactly what I am.

And you just love to beg. Dont you, pet?

Of course you do, dumb cunt. You begged for your own denial. I'm just giving you exactly what you asked for. You don't actually want to cum. No, what you really want is to be a good girl.

And good girls don't cum.

On a particularly desperate day not too long ago I was inspired to imagine the experience that one might build for me in a facility not unlike that one.

I would find my upper body completely restrained. In a straitjacket or just merely restrained tightly to the bed. However my breasts would be completely exposed and open. Upper body restrained to the bed with strong restraints that would not even allow me to squirm at all or hump the air. My legs however would be spread wide, restrained in gynecological devices. Of course facing the door pussy first so that my dripping exposed pussy would be the first thing that anyone who entered the room would see. So that even those casually walking past the door could glance at my progress on the way by. Patients in the facility were not allowed any measure of privacy or modesty whatsoever. In fact, patients at the facility were constantly monitored, in person by attendants who witnessed their treatment at all times. In order to maximize the humiliating effects of these witnesses attendants were rotated quite frequently to ensure that the patients were never able to form attachments to their attendants. 

The attendant’s role is not only to observe, but also to communicate information on the patient’s status to the various medical staff of the facility. Their role was primarily data collection. Patients are hooked up to a variety of devices in order to help the team asses a patient’s arousal level. Respiration rates, blood pressure, pupil dilation were some of the standard measures that they used, making it impossible to hide your response to the treatment. Of course, there were several other factors that they considered as well. Monitors were responsible for measuring the size of the wet spot that spread out underneath patients between their cleanings. They are also responsible for measuring the volume of wetness that the patients produce when a measurement of the wet spot did not adequately capture the arousal level of the patient. This was most frequently found in those patients who had been undergoing treatment for awhile. A patient’s clit was measured multiple times a day to measure their progress as well.

Treatments would be tailored to the individual needs of each particular patient. I can imagine that a facility like this would have no small emphasis on tapping into my humiliation and objectification kinks. Direct stimulation of my pussy or clit would be avoided as much as possible. I would be subject to regular application of ointments to increase blood flow to my clit and increase my arousal. These would likely also involve some level of irritants as well, given that I am a pain slut. These would be applied by anonymous techs in a cool clinical manner. With instruments that allowed them to avoid any direct contact with my clit. Being left to their agonizing effect without even being able to strain against the air for any relief. Counting out the edges that wash over my body while I strain against the bonds desperate for any tiny bit of relief. Blushing and squirming as much as the bonds permit while the tech and attendant talk amongst themselves about the effect of this latest treatment on my engorged aching pussy. Casually commenting amongst themselves about the hungry way that you eye the attendant and other staff. Idly wondering aloud what they think I would agree to if given the chance to cum. Taking careful note about how my breathing and heart rate respond to their words. Helping them identify what new elements would be helpful to aid in my treatments. At times for extra torture they might wheel a dildo into my room and place it just outside the entrance to my pussy. Laughing as they measure how much my pussy expands in anticipation of stimulation that it will never get.

They are merciless about exploring my mind to discover new treatment approaches that might be effective for me. When they discover comments and ideas that make me blush and gush even wetter, they work diligently to find sound tracks, descriptions and videos that depict these things. Playing them in your ears at night. Interrupting my sleep to have me tell them the thoughts and fantasies that these audios and videos inspire. Recording them so that my own shaky voice describing shameful depraved fantasies can be added into the rotation of the sounds that I am subjected to. Periodically when they happened upon particularly shameful and depraved fantasies it was decided that it would be in my best interest if these recordings were played over the loudspeaker so that everyone in the facility would be able to hear my most shameful fantasies. After all, it would be dangerous if a patient was allowed to keep their thoughts private. How would they ever be expected to get better?

Even transfers in this facility would be designed to be as humiliating as possible. Patients would be transported held upright with legs spread wide. Patients would always be transported backwards so that they were able to watch the trail of moisture that leaked from them as they were wheeled down the hall. Exposed and open to everyone who passed them by. And of course that just means that they are going to make transport take as long and be as arousing as possible, so there is manhandling, and comments, and hearing my fantasies over the loudspeaker until I get to where they are taking me so there is no doubt whoever is dealing with me next knows exactly how to push my buttons.

And of course there would be cleanings. Constant cleanings to keep up with the mess that only a desperately tormented slut can make. The touch of water against my pussy being the only direct stimulation that I’m permitted, while being carefully controlled and designed to be made as torturous as possible. Some days even adding a sensitizing agent to the cleaning solution so that the brief touches of water are even more agonizing. Being careful that even the most gentle air dryers don’t provide enough stimulation for an unauthorized edge. Once cleaning is done being slowly wheeled back to my room to begin the process all over again.

You've thought about it so deep it feels like full ownership now—your mind and body programmed just for me.

One snap of my fingers, and you drop to your knees instantly: eyes hungry, brain off, mouth open, tongue out, ready and empty. No thinking, no waiting—it just happens like a reflex.

Grab the back of your neck hard, and your knees go weak, eyes blur, words die as you melt into nothing.

Small triggers own you too: my thumb on your lips makes your mouth pop open automatically. My hands on your inner thighs force your legs wide right away.

After I ruin you—leaving you wrecked and dripping—you always whisper "thank you" like it's automatic.

Every trigger stacks up until thinking feels impossible and wrong. You disappear into the empty thing I created: eager, mindless, reacting before you even know it.

Your body obeys fast—knees hit floor, mouth opens, legs spread, voice says thanks—all without choice, pussy wet from the triggers alone.

Soon you'll crave that total blank state, begging for more snaps and touches that shut you down.