Furthering his legacy, one day at a time.
“Huh”. That was all it took for him to have me scrambling to redeem myself. Huh.
So it goes, I’d read slave Shae’s post from yesterday and my mere vocalisation was one of consideration. Not agreeance. Not contempt. Just thought.
“What?” Master asks. Well shit.
“Nothing.”
“No… what?”
“I was just thinking about Shae’s post.”
“About…?”. I sigh deeply. I’m not going to get out of this.
“The thoughts and emotions of sucking a man’s cock”. Master grins.
“And… what do you think?”
“It’s an interesting thing. Try it and see” I reply, mirroring his grin with a playful smirk of my own.
I try to move past him, but Master puts me back onto the sofa and interrogates me still further. What I like about it, what I dislike about it, what my thoughts are when sucking cock, and so on. I explain Shae’s own feelings on sucking cock, especially Blake’s.
“Do you get bored when you suck cock too?” Master asks. I don’t know that Shae would say she is “bored” of Blake exactly, indifferent maybe.
Still, I know that’s not important here.
“I don’t really think about giving a blowjob” I say. There’s a flicker of a smile on his lips — I’ve just given him his “gotcha” moment.
“I mean, I think about it, obviously” I continue, as though that in any way redeems me from my previous statement and replaces it with a better one. I cringe when I realise the implication.
“Not like that!” I groan.
“I think about sucking cock when I suck cock. Is that what you want me to say?”
“So you do think about sucking cock” he presses.
“When I‘m sucking cock, yes” I say. I’m defiant now. If I’m going down — maybe quite literally — then at least I’ll go down swinging.
“Irrelevant” he says with a now-wide grin. I shake my head at him.
I managed to dodge any “rakes” with Sir JGood with my last post, so that was a welcome relief. Sir said that my handling of things in my last post was “sensitively written and put”, so I’m glad to see that my standards are meeting expectations there. That’s all I try to be: fair and factual.
So, there has been a bit of a development these past few days: Sir JGood said on Tuesday that I was at the right stage to become a sex therapist or marriage counsellor. I almost scoffed at that idea at first. Clipboards aren’t really my style, Sir.
But I also want to expand the business, so I ummed and arred about adding a premium chat client instead. Especially with AI now, when it comes to sex and sexuality, I know a lot of people want a human touch.
So I did some research, but having learned that I would need a degree to become a sex therapist or a marriage counsellor, I put the idea to one side. I’d never afford university!
Last night, I helped Sir JGood with some issues. Sir joked that he’s not my case study for my degree, so I told him that I was contemplating whether to call him my “second favourite patient” (Master, of course, being my first) or whether that has a high chance of coming back and biting me on the ass. Sir suggested a roleplay — doctor, nurse and patient — and I nab the “doctor” role before this could go very wrong for me.
Besides, I am the one supposedly going for my degree 😉
A little later into our conversation, I said to Sir “you know you’re tired when you look in the fridge for the onion marmalade”. Sir said that he “prescribed” forty winks and I mewled. Nuh uh. We’re not doing this. Not before sleep.
So what became a tongue-in-cheek joke became me fighting to keep my grasp on my claimed identity, and Sir pushing still further with some lightly clinical humour. He’s not going to strip me of my power. Nope. Not like this.
I woke up at 7am after a solid six and a half hours’ sleep.
Damn it!
Lunchtime, Mum called up for a chat. Well, not really a chat, more she’d had a thought and wanted to express her appreciation for the way things are. So, when I was a child I was very shy and quiet, I didn’t smile much and I wasn’t a joiner either. Doctors even thought I had muscle weakness such that I couldn’t smile — they told Mum I may never smile or laugh. There was some suspicion I may be autistic too, and may never understand what humour was.
Fast-forward thirty-seven years, my sense of humour has her in side-splitting laughter and she loves my “dirty” laugh. I’m loved by many, I get waved to and I always, always wave back.
“We were told you would struggle to thrive, and you haven’t struggled my girl, you hopped out of the nest fifteen years ago and you bloody soared” she says.
“You’re unbelievable with how you are and what you do. You have so much warmth, so much passion, so much intelligence. And when you cook…” I chuckle softly.
“Any more, and I’ll have to get my doorways widened” I tease.
“- and it won’t be because of my tiramisu!” I add. Mum laughs out loud.
So I got talking to Mum about Sir JGood’s idea, and Mum was fully for it.
“If you do, you’ll be the first in the family to have gone for a degree” she says.
Damn, not too much pressure then.
So I’ve done some research (thankyou, ChatGPT) and I’m hoping to go for the BSc (Hons) Psychology with Counselling, through the Open University, and there are also grants available to help me cover the costs of my further education. I want to keep doing what I do on my blog, but having a degree in psychology (and counselling) behind me is really going to help me be able to offer more tailored, one-to-one support. I want to be here for people, but especially for the kink community, and just as I always have been.
And, having a degree in psychology would make my father so proud. My love of psychology — just like my icy blue eyes, my quick wit and my love for DIY — comes from my Dad, himself a social worker by profession. What greater gift can a daddy’s girl give her father — posthumously — than to excel in the very subject he taught her in?
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Until next time!
Stay safe & have fun,
The Thoughts & Musings Of Mrs Wolfie 
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