Service Slut

We didn't have some mega two-hour scene. We didn't have sex. But it was a night I'll hold dear to my heart for as long as I can hold on to the memory. I got to her home and was greeted by the warmest hug a submissive could ever dream to get from their dominant. We hadn't seen each other for a week but it felt like an eternity to me. Dinner happened and we shared the highlights/lowlights of our days apart with sniffles and the occasional blown tissues from a cold we both have. I felt stressed that I had not provided her with service so after receiving instruction, I got to work. This is typical of our weeknights together. I quietly showered after finishing my work, making sure my legs were silky smooth. I got excited at the thought that she might touch my legs while we slept. Every night I stay over, I yearn for her touch and I was determined to be ready in case it was what she desired. We each reblogged images on Tumblr, quite the norm for an evening together or ap...

Does your submission – either what you practice or what you strive for – have a label? Do you view your submission as Taken in Hand, domestic discipline, top/bottom, dominant/submissive, master/slave, owner/pet, or some other description or combination? If you do not use a label, why? My twitter handle describes a huge portion of what I am: a service slut. My service comes in many forms but the most obvious is domestic service. As often as possible, I clean for my Mistress. My service comes from the stance of making Her life simpler. Whether it is doing the dishes or just fetching something, it means that it is one less thing she has to do. Most of the time, she doesn’t ask things of me. It comes naturally to want to perform these tasks. I do them out of love for her and because I relish in the joy she displays when a domestic chore has been completed. In addition to being in a D/s dynamic, my submission manifests itself through pet play. Mistress makes me feel like a prized pet and I...

I'm still processing what happened. And sometimes writing helps me so you, the lucky reader, get to come along for the ride. Perhaps I should begin by outlining what prompted the punishment. For about a week, I touched myself. Our contract states that I must ask Mistress for permission before doing so. I pleasured myself without telling her. I came clean about it. I knew I had to. Not doing so would further damage the integrity of our relationship. The initial punishment consisted of not being allowed to masturbate for a week, no Tumblr time and no physical contact from Mistress except by her crop. That first weekend she teased me with the adult version of "I'm not touching you". When I did beg for her touch, I was promptly met with a slap across the face. One time, she harshly reached into my panties to see how wet I was. It was no surprise that I was drenched. It was playful though my clit was aching and yearning for her touch. A caress on my cheek or even a hug. ...

I had no idea what she looked like and I was very intimidated by her. I had always been told that no one should ever touch this sacred place, not even me. Fearing that I would touch myself by accident, I took extra care when I showered or changed my panties. What was this mysterious place that could elicit such tingly sensations? It wasn’t until I was in my late teens that I even took a peek. I laid back on my bed, with a mirror clasped tightly in my hand. I saw her in all her glory. She was just like I imagined. Neat and pretty. But I quickly put away the mirror. I felt shy looking at her. Like I was filthy for doing so. I touch her now (with permission from Mistress, of course). I began going commando so she could get fresh air. Lately, I’ve been letting her bush grow uncontrollably. I’m a huge fan of waxing. Shaving was never my favorite. I have never publicly admitted that it is presently a jungle down there. At first, I thought how very unladylike this was. But I’m actually very...

When I started to become aware of being submissive, I struggled a bit to accept that about myself. Part of why I had a difficult time coming to terms with it was because of the contradictory nature of my desires. This has now reared its head in regards to pet play. I was asked what kind of pet I saw myself as. The short answer: pup. The long answer: Its complicated. I was going to start with “I want to be” but the truth starts with admitting that “I am”. I might identify with a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel ’s or maybe a Lhasa Apso ’s characteristics. I want to be cherished. And I want to be a companion and feel Mistress pet my head. I want to be told I’m a good girl and be a prized possession. I want to wag my tail for her in excitement when she approaches me. I crave just laying at her feet and sighing with contentment. I want the excitement of being the cutest pup and the attention that comes with that. But then there are darker desires, the complicated part...

No, this isn’t a kinky post. But it is my life, my blog and I will write about whatever the fuck I want. I don’t want to ever have to talk about my mom in the past tense. But things won’t work that way and eventually that is what will happen. So for now I’d rather tell you all about her while I still have her. She loves orchids and how delicately beautiful they look. She regrets having kicked her cat out of bed because someone told her that sleeping with cats messes with your reproductive system. All she ever talks about is holding a kitten or a baby chick. If she could have anything to eat right now, it would be lasagna. She likes helping people and does everything possible to put everyone before herself. She is an eternal optimist and believes we need to see the positive in everything and everyone. She and I have been making tamales together since I was a kid. She taught me how to cross-stitch and sew when I was a kid. Her favorite story to tell about me is how when she was pregnan...

Holy moly, I love listening back to our episodes. This one is a gem.