Chasing Me Chasing You

An uncollared submissive struggling through depression, motherhood, and the constant craving of her next orgasm.

Happy Slut

I’m thirty years old. I was raised in the late eighties and early nineties by very liberal parents. My mother was the primary breadwinner and the strongest female presence I have ever known. While she does admit her faults, she is not ashamed of anything she does. My father is the picture definition of a renaissance man. He can quilt a blanket, wire your house, and cook you dinner. He’s not afraid of work and is willing to do anything for his family and friends. They are amazing people and I am proud to come from them.

That being said, I was raised in a slut-shaming culture. Tank tops that were perfectly acceptable when I was still dancing and very thin were nixed as soon as my boobs came in. Having a C cup at the age of 13 meant cleavage was always a battle that my parents refused to fight. Clothes couldn’t be too tight or showing my stomach as that would reflect poorly on them. I didn’t get that idea then and I still don’t get it. But growing up in a small farming community means that everyone knows everyone. So I guess they always just worried about people getting the wrong impression of our family. But the problem is that that was a concern. The gaggle of male cousins that lived around could wear whatever they wanted and the family name wasn’t tarnished. Sir reminded me that while my parents were generally open-minded, they are still very closed when it comes to sex. This largely comes from their parents. Both sets of grandparents were very vocal about what a woman could and couldn’t do. On my father’s side it was anything outside of the kitchen (I didn’t really get along with them). On my mother’s it was dressing to provocatively or acting like a ‘slut’. I’m not sure they were very impressed with me either.

Anyway, nearly twenty years has passed and I still struggle with that ingrained mentality. I love sex, but have always had trouble expressing my sexuality. I hate asking for sex, begging for sex, even telling or showing Sir how horny I am. The last few years have seen some growth, but I know I still have a long way to go. The other night Sir let me have several amazing orgasms. Between the Doxy and his fingers I was a gooey mess of pleasure. Once he gets me going like that I can go for hours. But the next day I was a mess. I felt guilty. Like a a form of subdrop, at least in the emotional response. It’s like I was ashamed of my enjoyment. And no matter how illogical it seemed, even to myself, I couldn’t shake that feeling.

I am still a slut. I am happy to be the sexual being that I am. I love sex and sharing my sexuality, especially with Sir. I know that my ingrained triggers won’t just disappear. Sir wants to work with me on them though, as he wants me to be able to enjoy without feeling guilt about it. And I need to be comfortable telling him and showing him how sexual I am. Hopefully that won’t take twenty years to undo.

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