Recommended listening: Panic Station, from The 2nd Law, by Muse.
And this chaos it defies imagination,
Ooh, five six seven eight minus nine lives,
You’ve arrived at Panic Station
Got my booster today! It was easy as fucking anything, and insanely quick, too! I waited a few minutes for my number to be called, walked in, lowered my shirt (hello, ladies) and got jabbed instantly! Walked out, waited another fifteen minutes to make sure my head didn’t fall off, and that was that! They make it so easy – you wouldn’t think there’s hundreds of people protesting against them right now.
I’ve been watching – not fully watching, more just keeping an eye on – the live stream of the protests at Parliament at work today as well. Their numbers have thinned a lot, but I’d say there’s still at least a couple hundred people there. And the cops have really stepped their game up since yesterday, too – I think they said over 50 people arrested? It’s kinda wild! They’ve been properly told to leave, to take down their tents and what have you, but they just… don’t. They’re so convinced that what they’re doing is right, and true, that they just won’t listen to anything saying the contrary. From what I’ve seen the police haven’t been overly forceful – they’ve been arresting people, yes, but (as far as I know!) only when they’ve been making a nuisance of themselves. I just hope the force they have shown doesn’t spur more people to join the anti-mandate cause – that’s really the last thing we need right now.
In hornier news, I was thinking earlier about how great it is to be on my knees for my superiors:
And, idk – it’s just nice sometimes to remember that, hey, I’m actually on my knees quite a lot! Any time I want to drink something at home, I’ve got to get all the way down there where I belong. It’s not an inherently pleasurable act – although, despite being on hard floors, I actually don’t find it that uncomfy – and yet, I take such pleasure in doing it. It feels like a nice physical reminder of my servitude – there’s no reason that I would “normally” be doing this, and yet, I am. Because it makes someone I care about very much smile, to think that there’s a slut on the other side of the world lapping up water from a bowl on her orders.
But there’s more to it than that, I feel. Visually, it’s a very powerful image – I, as a slut of some considerable height, having that taken away from me, quite physically brought down to a more suitable level. Height doesn’t convey dominance, obviously (I mean, have you seen me) and neither does lack of height convey submission, of course. There are certain ideas associated with tallness, though – and it’s kind of beautiful to just strip those preconceptions away and leave us with the bare essentials. I am lower, lesser, submissive, subservient. You’re bigger than me, and that means you can do whatever you like. It just so happens that, once I stand back up and become physically bigger, it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference.
Sorry this one’s kind of on the short side – I’ve been pretty distracted tonight, and I’m hoping to get a good night’s sleep and wake up with no awful side effects. Wish me luck! Thanks for reading.
Service and Sluttery 