Who do you worship?
I ask the question and the answer comes immediately: you, goddess.
Who do you serve?
You, goddess.
Do you want me?
Yes, goddess.
What will you do for me?
Anything, goddess.
And I know you’re telling the truth. Because so many of you do those anythings.
You start a book club around my favorite book.
You bend your life around my rules to live by.
You hold ice to your nipples until you cry out in pain.
You ruin your orgasm, edge until you can’t think straight, cage or goon or do nothing at all because I haven’t given you permission.
You send for my pedicure, my lunch, my coffee.
You thank me. For chastity. For saying no. For laughing at you. For humiliating you. For taking your money. For prioritizing myself.
And then you ask yourself again: what would I—what can I—do for my goddess?