Service Slut

There is a relapse rate for those who get off their antidepressants. It's about 80%. But when you are flying high and everything looks peachy, it is quite easy to think you'll be the exception. Over the course of a few weeks, I've been off of that which made me a functioning adult. I felt secure with myself. It started with missing a few doses. Sometimes, if I knew I'd be drinking alcohol, I just consciously decided not to take it (this would happen more than I want to admit). Then I just thought, what the hell? I'll just stop. No point in continuing to take antidepressants sporadically. This decision came easily. The moment I didn't tell Mistress that I made this decision should have been the first sign that this would not end well. In retrospect, I can see red flags where I should have stopped and reassessed where my head was. I confused depression and frenzy quite often. Sometimes, I felt resentment toward Mistress because I felt her withholding her affec...

I am 5'4 and my current weight is 183 lbs. There. I said it. A lot of the time, I hate how I look. Seeing my body change like this has done a number to my self-esteem. I could get on my beloved soap box and rant about how the media pushes the image of beauty as being skinny. But I've got a different perspective to point out. I've been guilty of the eye rolling when a girl that is more slender than me complains of her weight. Like a twisted version of an upward comparison. How could it be that your weight excludes you from those who are allowed to complain about it? I am not morbidly obese. And I will never be so thin that my rib cage is visible. But this does not mean that I am not allowed to bitch about it. I want to make a conscious effort to put an end to the eye-rolling of others' weight.

The collar I wear does not belong to me. It belongs to Mistress. I’ve received comments on how pretty it is but I feel weird saying “thank you” seeing as I did not pick it out. It took me about a week to become accustomed to wearing it 24/7. I cannot remove it even if I wanted to do, a pink lock ensures that. I’m a simple girl. I don’t wear jewelry or make-up if I can help it. So this is very new to me. Nerves hit my breathing abilities hard my first day at work with it on. What would people say? Was I about to invest in a wealth of scarves? I felt like I was opening myself to nonconsensual humiliation. I was scared. I found myself having crazy daydreams in which a large, industrial-sized magnet dragged me away by the neck. Or other dreams in which for medical reasons, I would need to have it removed only to discover that the key had been lost or Mistress was nowhere to be found to unlock it. Go ahead, laugh. I’ve never worn something like this before. The physicality of getting used...

From the moment I became involved with Miss H, I wondered how I would describe my relationship status to the vanilla people in my life. “Hey, so you know that chick I’m always gushing about? Yea, she beats me from time to time. Its awesome!” “Wait, you mean ‘Mistress’ isn’t synonymous with ‘babe’ or ‘sweetie?’” “Oh, those bruises? Sucks they didn’t last longer.” I was speaking to the only person in my family that knows about the nature of my relationship with Miss H. I spoke of the upcoming play party and probably rambled on about how giddy Miss H makes me. This person stopped me and said, “Wait. Is this really what you want?” She went on to ask me of the long-term implications of our kind of relationship and I started to regret ever saying anything. Fucking buzz-kill. It occurred to me that I cannot gush to the same people in the same way I would over any crush. Whether it be about Miss H or to whomever my journey takes me to, I will always have to filter out the dirty kinky deta...

I think about who I was about a year ago and that is a different girl. Tired of hiding behind a computer screen, I went to a local munch. And I can remember the many times since then that I had spied Miss H and Lady D sitting off in a corner, like a too-cool-for-school duo. The cool kids. Slowly, I befriended them. No way I could have imagined that I would now be under consideration by one of those cool kids. In a flurry of events, I found myself in the nude in front of a number of friendly faces a few weeks ago. Fire play, yay! Just one more cherry Miss H was to pop. Her mentor, Mistress Melissa (big bad scary domme who is actually super nice) happened to stop by and I found myself hiding behind Miss H like a shy kid. My favorite part: kissing Miss H’s foot and asking how I could serve her (RAWR). Once that cherry was popped (it was awesome and tickled, btw), we socialized and watched others play. It was the start to a normal evening. Towards the middle of the evening, little miss I...

I am patient. I am polite. BUT FUCK WAS I GOING NUTS LAST WEEK. It was like a spark was ignited. I felt like a bitch in heat, wanting to hump anything and everything. Except it wasn’t so much driven by my pudenda than my mind. Within the span of a week, I experienced many “firsts”. Public play, public semi-nudity, consensual impact play, ooh those vampire gloves, loving caresses, mummification (still some residual ecstasy from that) and just the overwhelming emotions related to it all. I couldn’t and still can’t get enough. I want it all. This crazy, hypnotic-like trance was seriously impairing my ability to work and think straight. Everything I saw or did lead my thoughts to naughty, kinky things. I could not stop thinking of what experiences I could have next and how soon they could happen. Ravenous would be the best way to describe what I felt. I think I must have been dirty tweeting more than usual that day. Luckily I was also chatting with Gemini . I was very pouty and whiny so I...

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...