Slut in the wild (Resolutions, Day 92)

So, as you probably know, today was Commando Day. Today is also the last day of my work team being split in half, for working from home “hopefully not everybody gets COVID at the same time” purposes. And so, yeah, while I was indeed underwear-less, it doesn’t quite hit as hard when you’re just sitting at your desk at home, wearing comfy pants. But then, after work (or, well, technically still within work hours, but it was supposed to rain and I didn’t want to get caught out) I needed to go to the supermarket. And I have to say – it’s one thing to decide in the morning to go commando, and sit in the office like that all day long. But it’s quite another thing to change pants later in the day, specifically for the purposes of going out in public, with the knowledge that you’re being a real slut under there.

It just feels different somehow, y’know? Like, yeah, ok, I’m getting ready to go out – but I’m still leaving the underwear at home. Idk, just something about it being more of a specific choice later in the day rather than a decision that gets made first thing in the morning really got to me. The feeling of chastity on top of all that, too – they’re not tight pants or anything, so it’s not like there’s a bulge showing through, but it makes itself known just a little bit more than usual. Somehow despite the presence of the device itself, the friction, and the rub, and the physical contact are all amplified with every step. Not enough that I’m, like, straining against the cage in public – I’m not a pervert after all! But it really, really doesn’t let me forget what I am – locked up, slutty, and loving it all.

It’s hard to stay stuck in the “I’m not a real slut, I just say slutty things and occasionally act like a whore at home” mindset with days like this, I think. Like, going out without underwear on, in full view of everyone walking past – that’s simply slutty, no two ways about it. Just because I’m not propositioning every person that walks past doesn’t mean I’m any less of a slut. I know that in my head, even if I don’t always feel it in my heart. More importantly, Mistress Charlotte knows what I am. There’s a reason she calls me “slut” all the time. She’s not someone to do something for no reason, especially not over the course of three (three!) goddamn years. If she’s calling me one, well… It’s pretty hard to deny. Thanks for reading.

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