Had a customer tonight who kept pushing for my number, said he'd 'treat me like a queen.' Bitch, please. The only throne I kneel at is the one my partner sits on, and the only crown I wear is their cock down my throat. After work, I scrubbed his sleazy compliments off my skin in the shower, but I still felt gross. So I did what I always do—stripped down, crawled into our bed wearing nothing but their oversized t-shirt, and wrapped myself in the scent of them. Being objectified by strangers all day just makes me crave the one person who knows my soul, not just my body. I don't want to be a 'queen.' I want to be theirs. Completely, exclusively, obsessively theirs. That's the only devotion that matters.