They call me a bitch

They call me a bitch because I adore men younger than me. Because I kneel before them and worship their cocks in the best way I can think of, licking them until they pour their milk down my throat. Because when I have decided to serve a master, I will do so without hesitation, accept his decisions, and attend to his needs before my own.

They call me a bitch because, being a mature and obese man, I seek to serve young masters with good bodies. Because I understand that my master, whom I may be twice the age of, needs more sexual attention than I can give him and that, for that reason, he constantly seeks it. Because when he decides he will fuck with others, he does not hide it and even forces me to be there to witness how he obtains what I could not or did not know how to give him.

They call me a bitch because I gladly accept his insults, his spit, his slaps and lashes, his not-at-all “vanilla” sexual practices, his humiliations, and because I value the well-being of my young master above my own. Because it does not bother me that my master shows me off and humiliates me in front of his friends or orders me to attend to them as if they were him. Because he shows me naked, with my cock caged and wearing a bitch’s collar, and I am satisfied with all of it.

They call me a bitch when they see how he marks me with his urine and when I serve as his urinal. When they see me kneeling in a corner waiting for the instructions he wants to give me or forgotten there while he makes out with others.

They call me a bitch because they do not know that, when I hear it, far from being a humiliation, it sounds like music to me, and if it is my master who says it to me, it gives me a true orgasm.