This website uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience on our website. Without cookies your experience may not be seamless. A s the meth slowly left my body, the reality and gravity of what I was doing began to register. Guilt engulfed me, guilt that had been suppressed, or more like squelched, by the meth. How much longer could I go on not telling her? She had the right to know that I had made irreversible decisions to jettison her from my life and to come out, stay out, and transition to becoming a woman.
When at last I thought I had mustered the courage to contact her, I received a call from a woman named Mistress Tara. She lived in North Hollywood. The offering sounded like it would be similar to a week I had recently spent in New York City living in a house of female domination as a slave, doing the cleaning, running errands, and helping the doms prepare for their clients. Bootcamp for sissymaids was exactly the distraction I needed to postpone a full reckoning of my past, present, and future.
No matter that Erin and Joyce had chosen me as their roommate and that I had even begun to settle into my new household. With barely a second thought I took off for Los Angeles for a one-week holiday from my troubles.
I arrived at the Den of Inequity, as the operation was called, fully expecting to be interacting with other slave enrollees. Mistress Tara was very kind and friendly during our initial encounter, and, as she explained, this was the one and only time during my stay that she would act as such.
Once we got under way with my training, all would change, she said. Mistress Tara even offered me a cold drink, emphasizing that this was the one and only time she would ever do anything for me. After I finished my drink I was led by leash and collar into the kitchen, fitted with a longer chain, and taken over to a pile of dirty dishes. She sat at the table to observe me. From the moment I started, things were completely wrong.
