Mac has asked me to write Him a sweet Sarah email today but I don't feel very sweet. He was mean to me this morning, mean in a nasty dirty hot sexy way, but still mean and I don't feel like being all lovey-dovey and nice. I would much rather pound on the keyboard until it breaks.

He was mean to me, calling me the filthiest and nastiest of names. He slapped me and He shoved His cock so far down my throat I couldn't breathe. He wouldn't shut up the whole time He was fucking my mouth. He just got nastier and meaner and I cried and begged Him to stop. He did other things and said other things and made me do and say things back to Him. Then He pulled himself from my mouth and I moaned to have Him back but He made me masturbate while He jerked Himself to orgasm over my fingers. He made me play with His spunk until I came.

Then He kissed my cheek and climbed out of bed and padded off to the shower, exclaiming that He was running late as He went. I lay there feeling used and abandoned, feeling nasty and dirty and all crawly inside. I was disgusted at what we had said and done. This terrible huge rage built up inside of me and I wanted to race into the bathroom, rip open the door and scream out that I hated Him. I wanted to punch and kick and scream at the top of my lungs how much I hated Him.

But I didn't. I didn't do it and I didn't hate Him. It was really me I disliked a lot. I wish I didn't enjoy the humiliation and the roughness of the sex as much as I do. I wish I was not going to use those images and the memory of the words He said to me to make myself orgasm the next time I masturbate. I wish I could be a good girl, and behave in a way my mother would be proud of. I feel guilty about wanting bad things, about encouraging Him to be dirtier and nastier. I feel like I don't deserve to be sweet.

I made Him toast for breakfast so it could be eaten on the run and He kissed me goodbye at the door. He told me to be good and to write Him a sweet Sarah email. I told Him that there is no sweet Sarah left. He frowned and told me that there is and that I should do as I am fucking told. I scowled and didn't answer Him. He ignored me and got into the car. My tummy ached with missing Him the second He closed the door.

So instead of a sweet email, I am writing this blog, with anger, a little bit of sadness and fear. There is a part of me, the smart part of me, which knows that He only said the things He said to heat up the sex. But there is also a tiny part inside of me, a deep secret part, that keeps reminding me that I did the those things and I moaned in pleasure and encouragement while I did them, so how could He not see me that way?

And I can't do it, even though I know He wants me to.

I will try again later on in the day.