I have had a fantasy these past few days, a fantasy about someone other than Mac. It is not a big deal, mainly because the fantasy involves that other Him that I keep locked away in my mind, the other Him that has been with me since I was a child. That big old mean dominant Him.

The fantasy is not particularly vicious, (well only a little bit) but it isn't something that Mac would be comfortable with and I find it really hard fantasising about Mac in a position I know would make Him squirm. The fantasy dominant is good for that. He fills that void and I know Mac isn't jealous of him. This way I can share the fantasy with Mac. The weird thing about it all comes from Mac's reactions to it. The things I think, even if He wouldn't be aroused by the actions themselves, usually arouse him. If He were asked to perform them or even see them performed on me or on any woman, He would blanch, but knowing that I think such things, knowing that I eroticise the pain and knowing that the humiliation makes me orgasm usually makes Mac hard too.

'I may not like the things you think, but I do like that you think them.'

The mails I get from men make me believe Mac is not alone in this. The men say that they would never hurt a woman the way I desire to be hurt, but the things I wrote turned them on. Some say this tentatively. They feel a little uncomfortable admitting these things to me, even from behind the anonymity of an email address.

Part of this fantasy involves the wearing of duos. For those of you that don't know what duos are, there is a picture of them here. Basically they are two balls joined by string. Inside each of the balls is a smaller metal ball that moves around when moved. The balls are placed in the vagina and natural movement throughout the day becomes a hell of a lot of fun. Vacuuming, washing machine spin cycles and stairs are a treat, car, bus and train rides are very nice indeed and even turbulence on planes can be fun. When I have duos in, I become very wet. Sopping wet. So wet that I am always a little worried it will soak through my skirt even if I have panties on.

The beginning of this fantasy changes to suit my mood but some of the things are common. I have duos in. I am leaking wet. The word WHORE or SLUT is written in bright red lipstick across my breasts. I am in an office. I am stretched across a desk with my feet on the floor. There is a ball gag in my mouth. I can't make any intelligible sounds. There is a cane and it hurts.

Sometimes I am naked. Sometimes I am dressed in high heels and stockings, my skirt pulled up to expose my ass, my blouse open so that my breasts press against the cool of the desk. He doesn't touch me and I do not touch him. I am not worth enough to allow him to be touched. He doesn't say it, there is no need for him too, I know it in my heart. It hurts. He knows this and doesn't care.

He hits me with the cane over and over. I squirm and grunt against the ball gag, but there is nothing I can do but take it. Each stroke of the cane causes my muscles to clench. Each clenching of my muscles causes my juices to flow. Each flow of my juices adds to that which is running down between my legs. I am achingly wet, in such need for release but I know it isn't coming.

I feel me, my juices against my ankles before he stops hitting me with the cane. I know my ass and the back of my legs are bruised from the abuse. He pulls me up by my hair and I cant stand, my legs buckle beneath me and he lets me fall to my knees. I keep my head bowed, my hair hanging damply around my face, knowing I am not permitted, not good enough to look at him. I hold my hands out, palms up, like I am expected to do. I wait, knowing what is coming, wanting it and hating myself for wanting it, hearing his grunts of pleasure that are taking place without me, independent of me.

His semen is hot as it lands in streaks and splatters across my palms. Even as he comes, I don't dare look up. I don't reach for him. I can't take any of his pleasure as my own. I am just a tool for him to use as one would use a tissue. He leaves me there, on my knees with my body shaking with the need for release, my legs and ass aching from the use of the cane, the smell of my juices wet on my thighs mixing with the smell of his semen still hot in my hands, the lipstick smeared across my breasts, the word now illegible, not even a whore anymore. I know I mean nothing, I am nothing, and back in my reality, this makes me come.

Holding my hands up for him to ejaculate on without even being able to raise my eyes.

God that thought turns me on.