I’ve been quiet for a fortnight, as they say, in terms of both writing and living out my slavery. I don’t know why, but for some reason during these past two weeks I have given my mind to the acceptance of just being what I am. You know me, I wrestle in words with this or that, struggle out loud with my place and status — and then I go ahead and obey anyway. For now at least, my angsty brain has hushed up and I have simply given myself to it all. So it’s been a time of subdued obedience, tacit submission to sex and being used for sexual pleasures of others. I’ve kept in my place.
Amanda has been introducing me to more of her lifestyle friends — mostly male doms from her life before me. She introduces me to them boldly as her sex slave. Even though they know what that means, I stand before them during these introductions reddening with shame. Because they know what that means.
It seems now, with COVID on the rise, these lifestyle friends of hers will not be stopping by so often. Amanda is closing up shop for a while.
Our neighbors, John and Patricia, are now fast friends and frequent visitors, in the full know of my life as a submissive slave. Curious but respectful, they’ve asked questions and I’ve answered, increasingly trusting them with what I am. Amanda often has me partially undressed when we are with them, as she knows they enjoy that so much — not just John but Patricia as well. I find a strange delight in the irony of being at their house for afternoon tea, which they are fond of serving. We all sit pretty, and we sip from teacups, and it’s all as proper as Downton Abbey — though all the while my breasts are out and in the wild, pale and perky. So properly inappropriate. But I am comfortable in front of them like this now, and Amanda is thrilled she can show me off to them.
The Millers are probably the first normals who have so fully known and accepted my slavery.
In the middle of these weeks was a visit with Kevin, which is my main excuse for not writing. I go to him always thinking I’ll have time to write, but rarely do. Actually the time is available, but the vibe with him is different and pushes me into another writing space.
There is nothing particular about my time with Kevin to post about. It was sexual but not bondage-filled, although his sexing of me feels dominant in subtle ways. As I’ve written, all men feel that power-play way to me, but Kevin more so. It seems somehow as he fills me with his jag and juice, he extracts from me my independence, and I dissolve into his will.
I am back home now.
Amanda has told me her planned lesbian encounter for me may not happen for a while until COVID subsides again. She has not yet told me who it is, though she keeps teasing me about it. At this point, I’m copacetic. Like I say, it’s a time right now of quietude, of hushed acceptance of whatever might be.