Guest Post: Master & Bella

This is a guest post written by my “anonymous” friend, and the author of the amazing and lolz tumblr, Sugar Tits. Below is her story of a past love.

“Baby, sit down-be a lady.”


“Just stay here.”

“You can’t tell me what to do!”

“I do.”

“Maybe in our sex life, but this is reality!”

Some couples need “safe words,” but we need a “signal” – for when I go from Alcoholic Fun Girlfriend to Submissive Sex Slave – otherwise we’ll just keep fighting. So he buys me a dog collar with a metal chain, which means I’m “his” when I wear it. And I promise to have it with me every time we meet. It works, for the most part.

“Hey baby. You got your collar?”

I’m on my way to my birthday party but stopped by his place first. He doesn’t want to come because my friends are junkie club kids. I realize now that’s what I am, too, and that I forgot something vital.


‘Shit shit shit shit! Why didn’t he ask for it yesterday, when I took a fucking 50 Euro taxi ride to get it? Or when I drag it around in my bag for days to work and school and parties? Now he probably thinks I don’t care and now he definitely won’t fuck me.’

“You’re such a bad slave.”

‘Oh, goddamnit.’

“I’m sorry.”

I recall the last time I forgot my collar- he refused to talk to me all night. Suddenly hot, fat tears start slowly rolling down my face.

“Don’t cry baby, come here.”

He sits me in his lap.

“You know, sometimes I think this is a game for you.”

“It’s not,” I sob, “I’m just not used to this!”

“Then you have to try harder.”

He rips a hole in the crotch of my stockings.

“Now you’ll think of me all night.”

“Like I wouldn’t have already.”

He slaps me in the face and sends me on my way-with vodka, for my shitty party.

“Ciao, Bella.”

Like most couples, we met at a porn gig. He was the director, and I was the model-only by the end of the shoot he joined me in the spotlight, shoving his fingers in my “Figa D’oro.” I fell for him instantly and stalked pursued him until he finally took me out.

On our first date he takes me to a nasty strip club where he knows all of the dancers. He buys me drinks and pays for a room, where I decide to hit on him properly.

“I’ve been masturbating to you for weeks,” I slur.

“I wanna make you my slave.”

I’m too wasted then to get what he means and he’s too grossed out by my period to fuck me. But the next sober morning his proposal sounds good and I want to see him again. So we have sex for the first time on a fuzzy red bed in a Swingers’ Club outside Milan. I have a good time despite all the voyeurs, but he worries that he was too nice.

“I fucked you like I would fuck my mother.” (Italians love their mothers).

“No, it was great!” ‘I’m gonna black out.’ “Have you seen my shoes?”

He starts taking me to trendy parties and his favorite bars. We share tons of taxis. He begs me to start eating so we can go out to dinner. I meet all of his friends. He calls me from a car in front of my house while I’m out with some hot boys. I ditch them for him. I start feeling attached. The sex gets harder.

“You know, we’re just playing like kids now.”

“What?” My face is covered in spit, my ass is red from spanking and my neck is starting to bruise.

“If you’re my slave, there’s no going back. It’s psychological. I’ll be your Master even when you’re married.”

‘I haaaaaate when he talks about me ending up with somebody else.’

“I know.”

“So you’re my slave?”



“For how long?’


Somewhere within these months I find myself in love with this [unavailable] man. He’s married and I know eventually he’ll just be my friend- and “Master”- if I’m lucky. I try to imagine a botoxed, old me meeting him in expensive hotel rooms. Depressing. I choose not to think and instead focus on making him hug me till I fall asleep-he owes me that much.

“You don’t need a cigarette at 8:00 in the fucking morning.”

‘Yes, I fucking do.’

I put it out.

“And please eat something.”

He buys me a brioche and we kiss goodbye for work. We’re happy. ‘We’ll find a way to make this work.’  I’m stupid.

“I wish you were under this desk during my boring meeting.”

I’m desperate for his texts and we call each other 10 times a day. I can’t live without hearing from him every minute. “If you died, I would get arrested,” he once remarked on how often we talk. “They’d think I killed you.” Romantic. I send him a naked picture.

“Can I come over later?”

I sit across from him at his table after we finish dinner. I worry that I drank too much-he won’t let me pee.

“Get on the floor.”

I look up at him as he slaps me, pulls my hair and grabs my face. I wonder what he’s thinking. ‘Does he only do this for me? How many “slaves” has he had? I hope he’s not smearing my makeup.’

He ties me to a wooden column in his living room, and lets me curl up in the corner. I feel myself relax under his watch and fall asleep to the sound of his breathing. Moments (hours?) later, his harsh touch awakes me. He’s slapping me again, and now spits in my mouth. He takes off my stockings.

“You are looser,” he points out, shoving a beer bottle’s neck inside me.

“No way!” ‘Gross!’

“Shut up, babe.”

I realize I’m “looser” because I fucked two other guys that week-a feeble attempt to be less obsessed with him. Oddly enough, they were put off when I insisted they call me a “slut” and thought it was “sad” how I would flinch whenever they raised their arms-as if it weren’t normal for me to expect them to hit me. I’d felt like an abused puppy trying to adjust to a new home. It was annoying.

“Go to the bathroom and wait.”

I lay down naked on the freezing tiles. It feels like hours. ‘What the hell is he doing? How long will this take? I could easily go back up. No, don’t be pathetic. Do I honestly like this? Does shivering burn fat? I could cover myself with a towel or something. But no, that wouldn’t count’

When he finally comes down (he had fallen asleep) he’s proud to see me waiting. He lifts me up, holds me tightly and gives me a forehead-kiss (#aw). He sits me down in his shower.

“Open your mouth.”

His piss is warm and I can feel it everywhere. I don’t want it to stop.

‘I wish he’d let me touch myself.’

“Look at me.”
He watches me shower, dries me off and brings me into his bedroom.

“Sit down.”

He ties me up to the arms of his chair and eats my pussy like gelato.

“I wanna be a good slave for you.”

“Then next time, shave.”

You know when you tie your dog up outside all day, and stay out late because you have to work? And when you finally come home, they’re hungry and scared but also soooo happy to see you? That’s kind of how this feels.

I cum like a bitch.

“This is the beginning. You need more training. But soon, you will be perfect.”

While I lie on the floor and he sits above me we discuss a lot of things. He likes fucking whores-I like being watched-he wants me to suck his dick at a restaurant-I want him to humiliate me in public-he wants to take me to a swinger’s club and make me get gang banged by five other guys. We have a bright, dirty future ahead of us.

He unhooks my collar.

“You’re free now.”

Relieved, tired and sore, I lay in his bed and think I should start waxing. 



11 Replies to “Guest Post: Master & Bella”

  1. There's something really sad about this – I mean, I feel the girl didn't initially express any desire to be a slave and it's more her infatuation with this guy that makes her this "dirty future"… I hope she's okay…

  2. because it's consensual s&m-the non-sexual part of their relationship is equal-as shown by the fact that they had to "draw a line" from "real life" with the collar. "Bella" is a feminist ;)

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