Slave Think

There is something about the incandescent need to serve; the sweet caress, Mother of Pearl against your cheek cooling your fever. 

The soul deep desire to please not just the Center of Your Universe but anyone who gets pleasure from your natural demeanor like your flame ignites thoes around you soon there is a blaze swallowing you whole, deliciously hot. 

You are cool clay freshly moldable, over and over you can change to be what they desire. Anything they desire. A cloud in the sky flowing with the wind. 

You were put on this earth to be owned; pleasure gained from pleasure given you need to make their world whole. You want to fill the holes in their lives, any inconvenience removed from their view. Pleasure coming from their ease. 

You are a slave; a nymph on a leash you whine with the need to please. Begging your Master to be let loose on the world and bring joy and pleasure. A light on the darkness to many. 

Master is generous he allows special people access to your flame, but when does this flame loose her glow, when others come and go used then left, why did she let them in for free?

Start charging she will, not in cash, no, but in effort. She may entertain, but you must prove you are willing to stay when it's time to help feed the flame, so she may burn bright again. 

Are you brave enough, most are not. The sweet past the bitter is more then any one person can handle. Teeth rotting, all consuming. Just a taste and you will not regret. Come say hi and see how far you get. 

-Pandaish

As a small child, this slave was painted in scars. Like chalk on the sidewalk she was beautifully broken; rainbow dust covering the ugly ground. 

As a teen, she was told not to show her scars, as they were unbecoming of a young lady; a marred gash in a porcelain doll. 

As a woman, she was told her scars are all for attention; a scream in a soundproof room, tears under the ocean. 

As a slave, her scars are part of her complex and unique story; a new ichor on a sculpture, a new nick in the wood. 

This slaves scars are but small bits of a big picture, but as bits do they weigh on her soul. When she sees them covering her body she sees pain, and happiness, sadness and grief. 

When Master sees her scars, he see flowers; a meadow filled with all the colors in the world swaying in the breeze. He sees the beautiful slave, the sad slave, the angry slave and the lustful slave.

And he still chooses this slave. My Master. 

-Pandaish.

A new story is about to be written; not by pen or quill, no, but by a gun. As constant as the cicada on a hot summer Tuesday afternoon; the needles drill against its canvas. 

A canvas as soft as silk; a warm breeze over the ocean. Soon will be marred with the marks of memories swirling around in my head. 

As desperate as I am to rid myself of them they are as desperate to be written; to be seen in all its ugly splendor. 

Vines of green and blooms of blue a tie to my heart. Encircling my shoulder in such tender caresses as it paints an image of my life's journey. 

A journey of California, deep in my veins as deep as the mountains swallowed my hometown. Sunsets, ocean breeze, crickets and honking horns. 

All in one single image; simple in its grace it tells a story of growth, a story of love; blossoms of self. In the eye of the bird my soul is bared there on my skin. 

Stark in contrast to my pale complexion; blood upon the snow. Get the voice out of my head and onto its canvas so I can show instead of tell. 

I am a rock; inconsequential on the side of the road just pretty enough to notice. 

I am the meadow; plain half of the year as my soul sleeps, alive and vibrant during the yang I am energy contagious. 

I am an Emerald; born in May I am the child of spring as I grow into the heat of summer. A deep green aura surrounds this vessel. 

I am the tree; roots holding me to my heart as my hands and fingers reach earnestly for the sky above. 

He is the air; essential for life He completes who I am. Only whole with Him in my lungs.

He is the clouds; cool and collected He glides through life. Taking the sky by storm, only showing like when needed. 

He is the rain; sent to wash away all the negative prints in my body, all the scars that cover my soul and my mind. Freeing me to become more. 

He is my sky; the other half to my soul that I have been searching for. The Hand around my neck, the lead attached to my collar. 

He is My Master. 

-Pandaish. 

Who wants a taste? ;)

Today this slave is making Master a special cake. There isn't any special occasion, no day of birth or anniversary; a new star that has born in the cosmos in a blast of a trillion fireflies thousands of years ago only now blooming in our sky. 

The dry ingredients first, a simple array of cake flower; light and fluffy. Sugar; granulated and sweet as sin. Baking powder to help it rise to the heavens like the arms of the devoted and salt, for balancing and purifying the pallet. 

This slave mixes the butter and sugar slowly. The steady rhythm of my wooden spoon against the mixing bowl. 

Then the wet ingredients all measured out perfectly; buttermilk for the creamy texture on his lips, a silk kiss. Vanilla, fresh off the bean this slave scrapes the rines. Eggs, fresh collected this morning to help richen the mixture. Butter; yellow and smooth for the bounce in its sponge. 

Next are the eggs beaten in slowly one at a time. With each crack, this slave imagins Masters eyes close in ecstasy as his lips wrap around his sweet treat. Presented to him when finished. 

The flower, baking powder and salt are added to the butter and sugar mixture. This slave laughs a little as it fluffs up and into her face, a streak across her cheek; the hazards of art. Then buttermilk last, a satain stream of thick liquid mixes into her sweet batter filled bowl. 

Now she must butter the pan and pour this delicious surprise into it, baking at 350 for 15 min. 

The frosting is next while the cake bakes, a warm bed of the finest quality. 

This slave adds cream, fresh from her friend farm this morn. Butter softened to room temp for easier mixing, vanilla fresh, harvested earlier with delicate fingers and salt for balance and purification, the most important part of my treat. 

As the cake is pulled out and cooling I make some fruity pebbles rice crispies to add on top in cute little shapes. 

Butter, marshmallow and the pebbles are all that's needed. His childhood favorite will be added with love, to help him remember the good times of old. 

The frosting is added to the cool cake; smoothed with care, every detail must be perfect. Will Master like this gift? 

This slave is now covered in flower and frosting in random places, she doesn't remember how she got so messy. As she cuts the crispies into little star shapes and standing them at the base of this cake for a little dash of her heart as well. 

Now this slave must wait for her Master to come home, and for dinner to be finished, so that she may show him her finished product. 

A cake for her Master. 

-Pandaish

There are many forms of need, the need for food, water, shelter, companionship. Essences of living that creates life. 

This slave is not speaking of thoes needs. She is speaking of the need that drives humanity to survive and continue thriving. 

This slave speaks of lust, but not just lust, a need so strong that it consumes all thought, all inhibitions are suddenly gone. You don't care who sees or hears, who joins. 

Like a party where all the faces blur, shoulders bump you but you continue to lose yourself to swaying heat of bodies against eachother. All you want is to dance.

The day this slave took shrooms she was consumed with this need. It was like a dream. her soul was bursting and she needed the touch of another to cool her feverish skin. She felt every stroke, every touch in tandem with her heartbeat. 

A dream where the world rocked and swayed, where there was nothing but overwhelming pleasure. As this slave walked the in-between of reality and fantasy is was like floating in spiced cider. Hot and smooth down my throat.

She flew through space looking for the ground where it could not be found. That's OK, this slave will soar close to the sun and feel the wax on her back as her wings melt. 

As this slave reentered the atmosphere and felt the ground kiss her feet; the pleasure dimming to a low hum, as she settles on a bed of daisys she continues to absorb the life force all around her. 

A trip completed and nirvana reached.

-Pandaish

For thoes of you who want to know who I am. 

I am 27 and afraid. I want to run into the redwood forest and disappear. I hate how deeply I feel emotion. Then I love how beautiful it is to feel so deeply. 

I am a child afraid to speak up. I am a woman afraid to leave a mark. Afraid to be anything noticeable. Afraid to be. 

I am a Submissive person with the charisma of a president. I am open and forthcoming to a fault. It has caused me much pain. 

I see myself as ugly and fat. My self dismorphia ruling my mind. Controlling how I see myself; how I present myself.

I am highly emotional. I feel everything so vividly. My pain spiritually and emotionally affects me physically. 

I am sad 80% of the time. I see the world for what it really is. Broken and filled with hatred. No longer the haven for uniqueness as I was made to expect as I entered adulthood. 

I am in pain all the time. I feel the pain of thoes I meet as my own. A powerful empath I can feel all your pain. All your fear. Yet I continue to be strong. 

I am exhausted and exhausting. I see the world so uniquely that it often overwhelms thoes I share it with. 

I am Danielle. A girl who has faced this world alone from day one. All the odds against me. 

Forgive me for being human. A person desperately trying to be. I only wish to be seen as human. 

I am drunk after a bad day at work and betrayal.

I don't care what happens from this point. I am Panda. 

-Pandaish.  

I don't write when I am sad. The tears blur my vision and I make errors. My ideas are choppy, incomplete.

Plagued by this pain that chews at the edge of my heart; I can't express it clearly enough. My sentences break like my heart is doing.

My smile doesn't reach my eyes, fake and forced as I die steadily inside. I want to scream and cry but my face remains this mask. 

I want to tell someone...anyone how much this hurts. I want to be heard, comforted. I want someone to tell me its alright. 

I don't write when I am sad because it shows how pathetic I am. How human. And that is the most exposing thing that could ever happen. 

Pandaish. 

Another door closed, a new one opens wide to the sky clear and blue. A periwinkle embrace, cool as a tropical stream. 

This new threshold has arrived with an eagar energy; a light in this world, ready to set blaze their path of life. 

This opportunity; a diamond in the deepest ocean. In my own backyard this person existed; have we walked past eachother? Have we said hello in passing? 

Do you know me? Do I know you? A stranger in line behind me who brushed against my arm. This mystery is only just beginning to unravel.

You are to be my companion, Master said a slave for my slave. A friend I can have to talk to. 

You are to be my playmate, Master said another cock for his hungry slut. Another man to heat my flesh.

You are a toy for his favorite pet. A new ball for his best friend. A new stud for his breedable bitch. 

I am excited to know you, we will have so much fun, pleasing Master together one slave on each side of his cock. Entertainment for his bordem.

Welcome to this team, we work together always. We have eachother back always. And together we will make Master the happiest man in the world. 

-Pandaish.