DIARY OF A SLÛT:

DIARY OF A SLUT:

Slut.

That’s who I am.

Throughout my life, I’ve been called many names: slut, whore, fucktoy—just to name a few. These are names I wear with pride. It takes a distinct set of skills to be praised in the art of sex. At twenty-five years old, I understand that when a man—or a group of men, for that matter—is inside me, using me for his pleasure, and calls me a slut, he means two things:

One, it means he believes I exist for his pleasure. That I’ll let him fuck me when, where, and however he wants. My body becomes his to explore. I’m the canvas, and the sweet reward of cum is the paint in which he crafts his masterpiece.

Two, it means that my pussy, my mouth, my ass, and my tits are extraordinary.

My name is Rae. I’m twenty-five years old and married to a man I love with every fiber of my being. I adore everything about him—his sweet disposition, the way he cares for me, his thick cock pounding me for hours. But even in the early days, he knew I’d need more. It wasn’t ha