Service Slut

I’ve long since been a fan of humiliation. There is an indescribable satisfaction that I receive from being reduced to nothingness. But the question stands: Is it truly humiliating if pleasure is derived from the act? In order to attempt to answer this question, I suppose we should start understanding what exactly it means to be humiliated. Wikipedia describes it as follows: “…the abasement of pride, which creates mortification or leads to a state of being humbled or reduced to lowliness or submission. It is an emotion felt by a person whose social status has just decreased. It can be brought about through intimidation, physical or mental mistreatment or trickery, or by embarrassment if a person is revealed to have committed a socially or legally unacceptable act.” Mmm, sounds positively delicious, doesn’t it? Sign me up! Sorry, got distracted there for a second. I want to throw out some possibilities for why this is so enticing. Take your pick (or suggest your own in the comments!...

Lady D. Oh Lady D. She is sweetness and mischief rolled up into hot. I turn into a puddle when she smiles at me. I credit this woman with pulling me out of my rut. (You know, that rut in which you haven’t crushed hard on someone for QUITE a while.) Because life is the way she is, Lady D is strictly hetero so that crush was slowly, well, crushed. It took us a bit but we made it back to friend status but she’s always going to be that platonic crush and I certainly hope that is okay with her. So when she asked me to come over to clean her kitchen, I was beyond delighted! I texted her to ask if she wanted me to work on anything specific. My slight smile turned into a grin when she responded that I should check my e-mail. “Instructions”, read the subject line. Fuck, I didn’t know if she knew that would turn me on but it sure did. I thrive on instructions, rules and formality. It is the Emily Post in me. She gave me instructions on what she wanted done and ended her message with “I should b...

Anyone that knows me VERY personally, knows that I have delayed reactions to everything. Arguments, profound experiences, road trips, you name it. So when Miss H asked me how I felt after playing on Saturday (that very night before we parted ways), I broke her cardinal rule and may have said a little white lie. My daytime activities were filled with familial time and minor errands. During this time, I struggled to relax and be in the present. No, my being was very focused on the day coming to a close so I could feel Miss H’s hands in places she had never touched before. Places I craved her touch. The day came and went. I am a ritualistic person so getting ready to go out is an event. This was no different. I laid out my dainty fishnet stockings and a modest black slip dress and probably took the longest shower in existence. I imagined ridding myself of all negative and worrisome energy, watching it all go down the drain. I wanted to be a blank slate for Miss H. A blank slate on which ...

As a side note, I’m writing this as I sit in my old bedroom with images of Catholic saints staring down at me. Hence the inspiration for this post. Our Lady of Perpetual Succour is right next to me… :-/ It has been said many times: for every kink out there, someone enjoys it. I think this phrase is used to express the sentiment that there are boundless ideas of fetishes. Recently CBS released a slideshow entitled “ 15 Strangest Sexual Fetishes ” and as I saw it make the rounds on Twitter, I saw a few comment on how it certainly wasn’t as risqué as the title implies. Truthfully, I didn’t find them to be strange at all. A while back, I expressed my interest in humiliation. Being the novice that I am, I wanted to tread lightly with just how I would go about describing this desire to someone. So I went in search of answers on the oh-so-many forums on FetLife ( here is the thread in case you are interested ). I got such varied responses and I decided that everyone was right in different w...

How fucking cool does this sound? The Floating World of 17th-century Japan was a pleasure district. Its visitors enjoyed an unprecedented level of sexual freedom , unbound by gender or class. Our 21st-century Floating World aims to create a similar space — a space of safety and freedom, the ideal environment in which to explore. We invite you to explore who you are, and who you can be. Experience pleasure in a playspace roomy enough to accommodate the strongest passion and the wildest idea. Learn from the country’s top educators — and from each other. Many sexuality events are run by a single organization or a promoter, and are designed to appeal to one specific interest: LGBTQ , bondage, spiritual sex, political engagement, etc. The Floating World is a meeting-place for these communities, and many more. We encourage our attendees to build bridges among communities, to share perspectives, strategies, and insight. The Floating World is three full days of classes, worksh...

I am just a girl with many labels. Mexican. Lesbian. Semi-Catholic. Corporate. Lower-middle class. College graduate. Disneyland enthusiast. Kinky. That last one can be a little tricky. The other labels can be proudly displayed on my sleeve whereas that last one can cause quite a stir (*giggles). Like a lot of people I know, I’ve had these urges since I can remember. There was this adrenaline rush I got as a kid. I would tie myself up (making sure the door was locked beforehand) and revel in the unnamed pleasure. What was it? Why did this “weird” thing make me feel so good emotionally? Fuck if I knew, I was just a kid. But as I grew up, got into my first sexual relationships, it started to peek out from the velvet curtain I had covered it with. I’ll take this moment to thank those good sports I slept with who could not fathom why I wanted to be slapped across the face while being called a slut (you know who you are). And what at first was just “freak in the sheets”, ...