Log from September 6th:
My poor little harlot's been worn right the fuck out. I guess a life on the run doesn't suit her so well. She's essentially spent the last few days recuperating... Which is to say, sleeping. I'll give her a little bit of a grace period to get back on her feet after the shaky 'oh god what the fuck please, Mistress, hold me and make it better' wears off. Then, c'mon, she really ought to be praising me and whatnot.
When someone saves you, sex ought to be involved. It's Damsel 101. Why the hell isn't my damsel getting to the sex-part? Not with me, obviously - no touching of the nice things for fear of wrecking them - but we've passed some perfectly decent lesbians and she hasn't so much as given them a good ogle.
Maybe her fixation with me is starting to get in the way of our relationship. I'm thinking marriage counselling.