Blackmailed Sissy Line Writing Hell Ch. 06

Fancy an insight into my sissy misery? Why not write out my lines with me each time I quote them? Better yet, email me the line a hundred times for just a small taste from my piggy trough of the 10,000 times I have to write out:

"I'm a stinky sissy piggy who deserves nothing more than to spend my days writing out line after line after line while my wonderful Goddess lives her best life - oink oink!"

"I'm a stinky sissy piggy who deserves nothing more than to spend my days writing out line after line after line while my wonderful Goddess lives her best life - oink oink!"

"I'm a stinky sissy piggy who deserves nothing more than to spend my days writing out line after line after line while my wonderful Goddess lives her best life - oink oink!"

It was Wednesday morning. After an eventful, awful few days, I was finally back in my piggy place, working on my loser lines. I'd gotten back from Master Mike's at around 5am and immediately passed out in the conservatory. I'd woken up bleary-eyed and exhausted at 9am, but forced myself to get back in my seat and catch up on all the line writing I'd missed yesterday. I would have loved a shower, or to change out of my sweaty, beer-stained dress. But even washing the dried cum off my face was a luxury not open to me.

"I'm a stinky sissy piggy who deserves nothing more than to spend my days writing out line after line after line while my wonderful Goddess lives her best life - oink oink!"

"I'm a stinky sissy piggy who deserves nothing more than to spend my days writing out line after line after line while my wonderful Goddess lives her best life - oink oink!"

I'd hoped the sweat pouring off me as the heat in the conservatory intensified might wash it off my face, but instead I could taste what a slut I'd been. I shuddered, remembering I'd committed to a whole year of weekly visits to Master Mike. With that happy thought in mind, I got started on another page of lines.

"I'm a stinky sissy piggy who deserves nothing more than to spend my days writing out line after line after line while my wonderful Goddess lives her best life - oink oink!"

"I'm a stinky sissy piggy who deserves nothing more than to spend my days writing out line after line after line while my wonderful Goddess lives her best life - oink oink!"

I was used to Goddess Tamara interrupting me by now. Or a phone call. Or another loser at my door. Or some other awful distraction from my piggy task.

"I'm a stinky sissy piggy who deserves nothing more than to spend my days writing out line after line after line while my wonderful Goddess lives her best life - oink oink!"

"I'm a stinky sissy piggy who deserves nothing more than to spend my days writing out line after line after line while my wonderful Goddess lives her best life - oink oink!"

"I'm a stinky sissy piggy who deserves nothing more than to spend my days writing out line after line after line while my wonderful Goddess lives her best life - oink oink!"

But as the hours went by, I was left alone. Just me and my screaming wrist, my jingly bells, my horrid smell, my chafing diaper, my stupid outfit, my itchy pig nose and ears, my pinching, metal chastity cage, my whole body on fire from the heat. And my lines. My endless endless lines.

"I'm a stinky sissy piggy who deserves nothing more than to spend my days writing out line after line after line while my wonderful Goddess lives her best life - oink oink!"

"I'm a stinky sissy piggy who deserves nothing more than to spend my days writing out line after line after line while my wonderful Goddess lives her best life - oink oink!"

"I'm a stinky sissy piggy who deserves nothing more than to spend my days writing out line after line after line while my wonderful Goddess lives her best life - oink oink!"

With no distractions for once, I could enjoy the full drudgery of my task. How I had chosen to spend my life doing something so relentlessly stupid, dull, and self-defeating. How the only smart thing I'd ever done was correctly identify myself as a depraved loser who needed to remove themselves from society, writing lines and sending money to others so they could enjoy a lovely life safely away from this piggy idiot I thought of Claire, who'd been saved from dating me and was now going out with Ryan, all thanks to me. Why did this thought make my cage hurt so much? Why was I so turned on by misery? Why did a large part of my twisted piggy brain want to tear up all the lines I'd done so far? I pushed that dangerous thought away and focused on my lines.

"I'm a stinky sissy piggy who deserves nothing more than to spend my days writing out line after line after line while my wonderful Goddess lives her best life - oink oink!"

"I'm a stinky sissy piggy who deserves nothing more than to spend my days writing out line after line after line while my wonderful Goddess lives her best life - oink oink!"

"I'm a stinky sissy piggy who deserves nothing more than to spend my days writing out line after line after line while my wonderful Goddess lives her best life - oink oink!"

That's better - don't think, piggy! Don't think about how you're literally throwing your life away. Don't think about how you're putting yourself in debt for the dumbest reason imaginable. Don't think about how little Goddess Tamara thinks of you when your wallet isn't open. Don't think about how you could have gone on a date with Claire, but instead paid for her to date a man you despise. All you need to think about is that you're a stinky sissy piggy who deserves nothing more than to spend your days writing out line after line while your wonderful Goddess lives her best life - oink oink!

Hour after hour I kept writing. I didn't know how I was going to explain to my doctor what I'd done to my wrist. I hoped Goddess Tamara would let me talk to them without having to oink at the end of each sentence. No doubt I'd have to beg her to let me make an appointment, and she'd think of some cruel, sadistic task for me to complete in exchange for the honour of being allowed to use my phone again. Why was I so weak for her? She hadn't even spoken to me today and yet she was all I could think about. Probably because of the propaganda I was writing over and over, drilling it into my sissy skull:

"I'm a stinky sissy piggy who deserves nothing more than to spend my days writing out line after line after line while my wonderful Goddess lives her best life - oink oink!"

"I'm a stinky sissy piggy who deserves nothing more than to spend my days writing out line after line after line while my wonderful Goddess lives her best life - oink oink!"

"I'm a stinky sissy piggy who deserves nothing more than to spend my days writing out line after line after line while my wonderful Goddess lives her best life - oink oink!"

It finally got dark, and I kept writing. Midnight passed, and I kept writing. No one spoke to me, acknowledged me, or cared that I existed, and I kept writing. I'm a stinky sissy piggy who deserves nothing more than to spend my days writing out line after line after line while my wonderful Goddess lives her best life, and finally I was making good on that promise. I finally went to sleep on the floor around 3am, in agony, but full of piggy pride for knowing my place and fulfilling my pathetic pansy potential as a line-writing sissy loser.