Service Slut

During my stint in a mental health facility* a couple of years ago, I picked up skills that I lacked. Skills that could have made it easier to process painful events, assert boundaries, and a metric fuck ton of things. I call upon those skills very frequently. Sometimes I don't even notice it because it has become second nature. I'm grateful to have achieved that. However, one these skills stands out from the rest. It is by far the one that helps me the most when I start to feel the all too familiar spiral. That shit show always starts with one thought. Everyone hates you, you'll never be more than you are now, and (the most popular) you are and will always be alone. That's when this most useful skill kicks in. It's an acronym that I use to challenge any of these thoughts that the darkness in my brain likes to conjure. The goal is to challenge and reframe the thought. Think. Is it T rue? This is always the hardest one to get through. My self worth is something I alw...

It starts with preparing your bare skin to press against the leather of that spanking horse. Clothes are unzipped. Maybe your belt unbuckled. It all drops to the floor. You position yourself. Your heart can't help but beat stronger and stronger, creating the bass for music that is to follow through you and of you. Each instrument is laid out, waiting to hit it's note and tell a story with their own sound and texture. It starts with taps. Soft ones from the steel cane right in the sweet spot where your leg meets your ass. It starts with being cold against your skin, but slowly the warmth from your body takes over. The thud consumes you and becomes one with the beating of your heart. Slap, goes the flogger. Yes, your favorite one. The one makes you writhe in pleasure. The paddle is picked up. You flinch in anticipation of the pain, which is almost worse. The searing sensation elicits screams of pain.  Your muscles tense after each hit. Your desires betray you when your ...