Sometimes it’s so good to throw off all the manifestations of personality, the traits, the preferences, the needs, to be nothing but a cunt, an asshole maybe, a mouth, existing only to be used by someone unknown, for their pleasure and in no way for yours. To be an object, in other words, not a subject, not a person, nameless, moved about into whatever position suits them, however many of them there are. You know that your own needs will be neglected, ignored. You are blindfolded, you can see nothing of them, only feel their lust as they plough into you, seeking only to slake their lusts. You are left leaking semen, sweaty, panting, exhausted. You are aware that someone is taking photographs, doubtless so later they can masturbate and enjoy over again your reduction of your body to a thing. Feminists will say that this is a crime, reducing a woman to a set of holes. But what if that is what she wants? Just now and again, to forget the burdens of her self, her character, her individuality. It is so freeing, is it not, to dispense with all that, to be only what she is required to be, not to have to think about what is the right thing to do, how the whole woman can be involved, fulfilled?

You will lose respect, they say. But what if sometimes you don’t want respect, you want to be of no account, used only as they please. They can hurt you if they want, they can treat you like an animal, a doll, a mechanism for providing them with pleasure. That is your function, and you are happy to fulfil it. Smeared with semen, leaking from all orifices, bruised, even cut, your make-up smeared across your face, sperm clotted in your hair, your cunt and asshole sore from their insistent demands, yet still they want more. You can feel the throbbing of your cunt. They take no notice of its own demands; at the end you have still not reached a climax. Perhaps later, when you are alone, you will revisit some of your degradation while you masturbate, finally taking back a little of yourself. But the pleasure in this is mainly to relive the stripping away of your personality. “Whore, bitch, slut,” they call you as they slap you and spit and piss on you and pump their effusions into you and on you. You welcome their insults; little do they know how you value them, conforming as they do your status.

It is so good sometimes to let yourself go, to crawl at their feet, to flaunt your red and swollen cunt. You have no responsibility. “Show us a good time,” he had said when you asked what was required of her. But you have showed them nothing. They have simply taken what they wanted. And then at last they discard you, leaving the room without a word of farewell, not even a second glace to the snivelling, filthy creature on the floor. If they had a good time, that’s fine. But it was never up to her. They knew what they wanted and they took it.