If you knew me, you’d know that bees and beekeeping make up a chunk of my core identity. I grew up the daughter of a beekeeper, whose father ran a honey (and honey-related products) family business, so bees are just something that I know. 

I remember in school, my father would bring in his demonstration hive for Show & Tell day. I can remember my classmates bringing in their pets or baby siblings for Show & Tell, and me? I brought in honeybees. 

My father loved it too: a warm, rosy-cheeked man with a wide grin, Dad had time for everyone, but especially kids with questions. Dad would spend hours before our Show & Tell day, filling little pots with homemade hand cream and honey. The kids could take one of each home with them to show their parents, though the honey was always long gone by the time the kids got home. 

Since his passing, honeybees have become a kind of spiritual symbol of his presence. “Wherever the bees are, Dad is” we said. 

This latest development all started in conversations with Sir JGood last week, about my “harem”. To be clear I don’t actually have a harem, at least not intentionally, but I do have a group of Dominant (or Dominant-leaning) men in my life, and that’s fine. They’re not intentionally my “harem” though, and I am not (at least not in my eyes) intentionally their slave. 

Keep that in mind, because the one rule that Master has for me is that I have to respect any Dominant-identifying friends of ours as though they already are Dominant to me. That doesn’t mean that they will get to fuck me six ways til Sunday, though nor does he rule out that possibility. The Sadist likes to keep me on my toes.  

Sir JGood talked about my “bee colony”; this queen bee’s “worker bees”, or my “harem”. I told Sir that it wasn’t possible for the men in my life to be my worker bees – worker bees are female. 

So Sir asked what male bees are called, and I said they’re called drones, which “kinda figures” (since men do drone on sometimes 😉 ). He then asked what a drone’s purpose was in the colony, and that’s where I took my fall from grace. 

My father would have reminded me that “the further you climb, the further you have to fall”. Perhaps I should have heeded his warning, but alas, I didn’t – I was far too happy dancing around, being the queen bee that I am.

A drone bee’s sole purpose is to breed with the queen. They have no other purpose in the colony. 

Suddenly, this queen bee status of mine didn’t feel so much like royalty. Worse, I could just feel Sir’s wolfish grin, even from 400 miles away.

What got me was that I put up no resistance, just a quiet acceptance of my fate. To unleash my inner nerd on you, dear Reader, I realised that resistance really is futile. I remembered that some Dominants even like the ones who resist a little at first, because it makes the – and as I recently called it in equally-nerdy, Kobayashi Maru-related conversations with Sir JGood –  the “defeat, subjugation and ultimate surrender” (of the submissive) more fun. 

It’s one of those no-win scenarios, except that when it comes to good partners and hot, kinky sex, I’m not so sure that not playing is really winning, after all. 

I think it was the first time that Sir JGood had managed to dip me into subspace, though I don’t say that I minded it. I didn’t expect it, sure, but definitely didn’t mind it. I think that’s one such thing with our connection as of late: sometimes it’s much harder to know where the boundary lies. I think sometimes we’re both feeling it out a little. 

That’s not to say that it hasn’t been fun, though. 

Sunday pre-shower, it occurred to me that my next sex-story might be something of a failed mission theme: one of capture and surrender. Saying that makes my potential capture sound like something I don’t want, though again, I wasn’t so sure that I’d consider my potential capture a bad thing. Perhaps only for my energy levels. 

Readers of the old Bad Girl’s DIary may remember a game that I once created, “Don’t Wake The Sadist”. The rules are simple – to enter (and exit) the vicinity of a sleeping Sadist without waking him. Especially in a freshly-showered, freshly-shaved, naked state, that would be akin to waving the Sadist’s favourite meal right in front of his face. Maybe quite literally. 

As fun as that may be, I had other, less-fun things I needed to do. Hence, I needed to get in, grab my post-shave balm and some clobber, and then escape unscathed. 

I nearly woke the Sadist upon entry: he had his foot overhanging the corner of the bed, and the bedroom door nearly collided with it. Crisis averted, I managed to get around him without disturbing him, though he stirred when I sat naked on the bed. 

Shit!

Quick thinking, I grabbed our fluffy black blanket and covered him in it lightly, and I guess the cosiness sent him back to sleep for long enough for me to grab some clothes. I forgot trousers, but that didn’t matter, I had underwear for the moment. A t-shirt and underwear will be enough for now. 

I had been chatting to Sir JGood, who I told of my little “mission”. He told me that it was too dangerous for me to attempt a re-entry for trousers, and that was when he got my next message.:

Trousers acquired. Repeat. Trousers acquired.

So that then led us to an idea, from a moment of sheer stupidity to inspiration for a collaborated multi-part story. It’ll be action, adventure, romance and plenty of spice – get ready for the tales of Cadet Ruckford 😉 

There was sex on Monday, which sounds like it could be an activity group, except it isn’t and shouldn’t be. It was another stupid thing: I leaned over the sofa to grab some items to put away and Master spanked me thrice and took me there and then. So that was that. 

Master has this way of doing that to me – or rather doing me – that he knows I find so frustrating and hot at the same time. He’ll spank me, take me where I am and then tell me to carry on as though nothing happened. He knows it drives me wild, but he also knows it drives something deeper within me – something submissive within me. The part of me that still somehow refuses to believe that I really can be taken anytime he likes, because I still haven’t decided that I don’t like it. It’s not that I have agreed to his free-use of me, it’s that I haven’t disagreed to it, and he knows that I’m unlikely to. Why? Because I like sex, and he knows that I bristle when I think about what that makes me sound like.

Tuesday, I finally got around to starting my workout. It’s been on the agenda for a few weeks, but with Mum’s health and not knowing when best to fit my workout into my day, it didn’t happen. Now, it’s finally actually happening – workouts, first thing in the morning. 

Wednesday, workouts are off again – I got up with good intentions, but mother realised I was online (I‘d literally only unlocked my phone to read an email!) and wanted a video call, then Mr C knocked and wanted a chat, then Master woke up, then the house sprung to life and it felt a bit chaotic and random to start working out in the midst of all of that. So I abandoned the idea with the promise to myself that first-thing workouts will start in two weeks when Master starts his new job. I enjoy a weighted workout, too. I didn’t think I would, but I do. 

Wednesday afternoon I worked with Sir JGood again, on our ideas for our “Cadet Ruckford” story. What I really liked about working with Sir is that we can work together; neither of us is right, and neither of us is wrong. We bring ideas to the table, talk about them, pick what we like and alter what we don’t – we’re collaborative rather than combative when we work together, and that’s good. Sir let me lead, or, at least, he led me from behind, letting me lead the situation whilst not really letting me be in control at all. Suppose that leading is something that I’m used to, in a way, from my formative years? if I didn’t kick my classmates’ collective asses on group projects, nobody would!

And I get the sense that, in me, Sir JGood sees that. He sees that I really can lead, I just don’t want to. That, there, is true of many an alpha submissive: it’s not that we can’t lead, we just don’t want to, and it’s both simultaneously breath-taking and panty-dampening when you meet someone who finally understands.

Thursday, I made a booboo: Sir and I had been discussing ships and I’d been dancing around Sir all sure and confident like, right up until he took the wind right out of my sails.

First, to give readers a little backstory, Sir JGood assists with game development, amongst things, and he has a penchant for battleships – a game that, coincidentally, I also have a penchant for. It goes right back to the days of Habbo Hotel: the games room was the place I’d meet guys that I could banter and flirt with, as well as the lady who would become my future (Birmingham-based) penpal.  

In my days with W, after a break-up, I did once wager a return to my submission on his beating me at battleships, a tale thet I have retold to Sir JGood since. I think that caught Sir’s attention even then, after all, it takes courage (or stupidity) to gamble something so big so recklessly.

So when I was trying to brag about Bristol’s (naval) assets and Sir mentioned that our pièce de résistance, the SS Great Britain, is mighty, but that she pales in comparison to his favourite vessel, the HMS Ark Royal, I knew that it was game over. How the fudge can a girl compete with a flippin’ aircraft carrier?! 

It’s a total ‘me’ problem, I do realise, but still. Even if to that carrier I owe my liberty, I’m still allowed to be a bit pissed that anyone would downplay the glorious ship that dominates my city’s dockyard – she’s a warship, too!

So that led us to conversation about nature and the sea, Cornwall being somewhere that we both love with its rugged coasts and ferocious seas, and I said that the sea can humble a man; not just men, but women too (NB. if you want an ocean-related humbling, do read about one of my nation’s tragedies that made me very aware of the power of the sea). Sir didn’t take it that way though, and probably – if I know these Dominant kind – deliberately too. 

Sir asked me what makes a woman humble, and not one to skip a beat, I knew where he was going with this: what makes me humble. 

I had several cards in my hand, the question was, which one did I want to play?

I could have chosen the stupidly-brazen “she can’t be” card, though I (perhaps wisely) opted against it: after all, everyone can be humbled in life.

Instead I said “fear”, though now I think about it, I’d like to change that answer = the ability to trust. Fear is the wrong answer: fear is not humility, fear is fear, through and through. Being able to trust is real humility; trust is putting yourself in situations that feel unsafe for you, and trusting that you’ll come out okay.

Another anecdote to this: Sir and I discussed the games we play, and we both agreed that these are games of body and mind, but not of the heart – you don’t play these kinds of games with people you aren’t really interested in. So we’re agreed there too, then. 

So Sir had asked what makes a woman humble, and internally at least, I’d sort of scoffed at the idea – no way was I going to make it that easy for him! I sent Sir a screenshot of my music player playing the Mission Impossible theme – an indirect, musical way of saying “dream on, big guy!” – and Sir suggested that I might like to try Wagner’s “Ride Of The Valkyries” next time instead. So it’s a war he wants, a battle of the sexes once again. 

Unfortunately for Sir, I am also the daughter of a Dominant man, and so and as such, psychological warfare doesn’t really work on me – it’s because of my father’s passion for psychology (and music) that I’m into psychology (and music) myself. It’s cute how he tries, though 😉 

Long-time (and perhaps, dedicated) readers will know that of the Fifty Shades movies, this is my favourite scene, and incidentally, the soundtrack that plays in the background is “The Art Of War” , by Danny Elfman. I used to deal in business negotiations myself, and I’m known to be a beastly negotiator, who also doesn’t always play fair when the situation allows. I think it’s the tension of the situation – not what does happen, but perhaps, what could happen 😉  

So, about my booboo: I was dancing about, tormenting Sir JGood about trying to work out our surname and being oh so sure he didn’t have our address.  Sir said he’d take a potshot guess, and then he proceeded to pin me to within five metres of the very chair that I was sat on. 

What the fuck?!

Turns out, I’d shown Sir a delivery box from one of our Lovehoney review products, and I didn’t quite fully cover our postcode with my thumb. So Sir Googled it and – along with the photo that I’d sent him of our watering can with our front door number on it (and because there are plenty of properties in Bristol with our door number!) – he’d worked out our address. I told Sir that it was “giving Christian Grey vibes” when he admitted to looking at properties in the area, and Master agreed too that looking up our postcode was “a little bit Christian Grey”. So I guess that makes two of them now then, albeit for different reasons. 

So Sir JGood now has my full name, my postal address and my trust. 

Too bad about my ultimate surrender 😉 

That’s it from me! How has your week been? What exciting things have you been up to? Give this post a like, share, or leave a comment below. Alternatively, click here for more My Week In Review posts!

Until next time!

Stay safe & have fun,

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