Fat Pig

I love humiliation.  Or rather, I love things that most people would view as humiliation.

I love when The Boss calls me a “fat pig”, when he tells me I’m a disgusting slut, that I’m filthy, and perverted, and wrong.  Because I am all those things.  But I feel no shame in being the things he calls me.

Fat Pig
I’m overweight, and I’ve always struggled with shame about my size.  Even when I was at my smallest (approx a UK size 6 – 8) I felt big.  In the past, I felt that no one would love me, no one would want me, no one would desire me because of my size.  Or if they did fancy me, that it would be dispite my size – that they were able to see something in me they desired, which made them able to overlook my weight. 

When The Boss calls me a fat pig, as he pins me to the wall, kissing me, hands grabbing at me, his desire obvious, it makes me feel so accepted.  He sees my size and he acknowledges it as a part of me as a whole person.  He doesn’t see it as a negative aspect of me, so why should I?  It feels the same as talking about my big tits, my brown hair, my painted nails.  Just another part of who I am.

And that’s how I feel with any of the above “insults” when he throws them my way.  I am a disgusting slut.  I love raw, primal, messy sex.  I love blood, and piss, and spit, and cum.  I love my makeup being smeared all over my face.  I love looking at the sheets after sex and working out what each of the stains or wet patches is from.

To me, verbal humiliation isn’t about making me feel less than, making me feel degraded.  It’s about someone seeing all of who I am.  Knowing that they see the not so good bits, as well as the good.  And knowing that, even though they’ve seen the darkest side of me, they still want me.

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