Missions, spies and deep sea dives.
Wednesday
Wednesday and after my last post, Valkyries and I talked some more. First about spies: Sir said that spies are less “Bond, James Bond”, they are the people you have tea and toast with, “a confidante and a friend”.
I had to smile. Smart man.
Sir then said that he could be a spy too, and that was when I realised he was, in fact, probably not a spy. Rule one of Spy Club? You don’t talk about Spy Club.
But if he wanted to play spies — if he wanted his own Mr & Mrs Smith-style showdown — then I’d gladly entertain him.
Sir said that he had some things he wanted to “un-pumpernickel”, and he wanted to play doctor to do that, he also had his preferred method of torture. From the emojis that followed I thought I knew exactly what he meant, and I had to wonder how on earth I would handle a man who was ready and willing to use my own kryptonite against me.
Tickle torture
Oh.
I said that I can “switch it off”, and Sir pointed to me being the first global case of a human with no heart or a continuously functioning nervous system. Again I’m sent scurrying for cover – no no no! Not that!
So I asked if we can’t stop with Sir’s “science expeditions”, and Sir said that they now come under the “pumpernickel umbrella”. When I asked about the things Sir wanted to “un-pumpernickel”, he said that they were now “double locked”.
I was a little frustrated, but I accepted that. How can we “un-pumpernickel” things if you won’t tell me what you want to “un-pumpernickel”?
Not an hour later, Sir invited me to his roleplay court hearing, to discuss why “un-pumpernickeling” should be allowed.
I raised an eyebrow at it.
Oh Sir, you really don’t want to be playing lawyers with me.
Let it be said: I’m practically known for my fierce, diplomatic prowess.
Still I went along with it, entertaining him as I would do. I presented my case as I would if it were a real court: I had been open and ready to negotiate all along, it was him who put the “double lock” in place.
Sir, quickly realising the error of his ways, had his fantasy judge throw the case out of court. I, not done, had my “representative” Queen Elena take the stand and countersue for a “get out of jail free” card, owing to the “emotional distress” caused and time lost in this little “case” of ours. She was dismissed and held in contempt of court by an unreasonably hasty judge Sir JGood.
So I appealed the decision to the Supreme Court of Shadow, and Shadow overturned Sir JGood’s ruling in my favour and awarded a reusable “Get Out Of Jail Free” (GOOJF) card, for use on any teasing related to this case. Sir did say that such a card is “not needed or usable”, though I’m sure the committee of Ten Shades & Me disagrees. As such, the card shall remain both valuable and usable. So sad, too bad, nevermind Sir 😉
Thursday
There are remnants of the night before, coupled with, what feels like, a total shift between Sir and me. I know some of it’s personal stress for Sir and so I try not to worry myself too much. It’s uncomfortable, but I let it be — I’m here if he wants to talk.
Also Thursday I picked up an email from my brother in submission, V. They’re always thought-provoking and a good giggle.
As I may have mentioned recently, V and I see ourselves like Roman slaves at the watering well, gossiping and giggling about our submission to our Owners. For whatever reason I’m reminded of the ITV2 show Plebs, and I’m decided that I’m not against the comparison. That’s not to compare either of us to Grumio, by the way, but that we accept our place in this fantasy society.
But there’s an underlying thing going on here, and as I interweave my life with Master Levi and Mister Valkyries and my siblings-in-submission relationship with V, I find myself in a bind I don’t wish to be in. The medical stuff: there’s a sense of “wrongness” in it that I just can’t seem to shift, and that fills me with a sense of guilt. It’s “wrong” for me to like this stuff, and in my heart of hearts, I know that V and his love of women’s fashion will at least empathise with me.
There’s more: as I dive deeper into this sense of “wrong”, I realise that control is not something I can have; if I can get out of these situations then I will. Anything not to be “wrong”, even if “wrong” is right”, for me.
More still: about a week ago I linked V to a song, Halsey’s “Not Afraid Anymore”, which I said really allows us to let go of control and embrace our inner kinky selves. Yet here I am, struggling and resisting to do exactly that. What kind of a hypocrite am I?
I need to be clear that it’s not Sir. God, it’s not him at all, it’s me. Before I started dating Master Levi I was exactly the same: sat on the rocks on a Cornish beach, wondering whether I wanted — whether I was ready — to be in another relationship with another being. I loved him, but I was scared: what if I end up alone again?
It should come as no surprise that Foreigner’s “I Want To Know What Love Is” was my chosen anthem for that moment. Now, it feels like I’m back on those rocks once more.
What if my “weird” is too weird for him too?
Friday
Friday is a frantic flurry of trying to get some administrative tasks done. The printer has decided it hates me and for absolutely no reason at all: it ran out of ink, so I ordered some more, then it decided to throw another tantrum and develop a paper jam instead. Filled with a new cartridge and just the right amount of paper, it eventually decided to behave.
I received another email from V, who is frustrated with a higher-up. If there’s one thing I’m always grateful for, in my work, it’s that I don’t have any higher-ups.
Still, V and I talked descriptive writing, and capturing the adventure on a quest for sunken treasure. I detailed the deep sea dive to an imaginary ancient shipwreck: crashing over the waves on a boat, bobbing off of the coast of an island, the coolness of the water and the taste of sea salt as you dive, the way the deep dark blue gives way to the view of the wreck, the way corals obscure parts of the ship, and so on. I impress myself with my imagination sometimes.
Master didn’t go to football on Friday, instead, he went out for some drinks with colleagues. I’m frustrated in a way, mostly because he was out until gone 10PM, didn’t let me know he’d be home late, and then came home drunk and passed out. I’ve made clear now that I will be buying/preparing some meals that I can “heat and eat” on Fridays if he decides to stay out with his colleagues, that way I’m not dependent on him to keep my life on track.
Friday evening I enjoyed nerding out with Mister Valkyries, about batteries, the Oxford Electric Bell and the “Baghdad battery”. It’s sexy in its own way, just as intelligent men are to me.
There’s talk about IKEA instruction manuals too, and for a minute I thought Sir was talking about having lost an actual instruction manual for something other than batteries. Then he sent this image across.
I buried my head in my hands.
Oh dear heavens, what have I done? The man is as crazy as me!
There’s a conversational change between us. A shift in the temperature, perhaps.
It’s an area that we’re not supposed to venture into, and yet, I’m not against it if we do. It feels inevitable; a part of this “simpatico” symbiotic relationship that we have. A part of a future with he and me in it.
Sir’s pleasure matters to me too. It’s especially my pleasure to be responsible for it.
Saturday
Early hours of Saturday morning I’m up conversing separately with Master Levi and Mister Valkyries — even if the three of us get along just fine, these are separate conversations for now.
In our conversation I got talking with Master about my upcoming collaboration with slave Shae. About the apparent lack of questions that have been put to us, in spite of our efforts.
Of course that then leads to some intricacies in conversation, because while Shae is a slave, and is identified as a slave, I’m not — I’m a submissive, at least for now. That’s also something of an internal struggle that I’ve been having lately: with Mister Valkyries in my life, what might happen if he becomes Master Valkyries to me?
But for now, I know that Master at least doesn’t think of me that way.
“You’re not a slave” Master says matter-of-factly, “you have too much about you for that.”
I think Master thinks of slaves as living as inferior people sometimes, which is an understandable but easy mistake to make. All submissives possess an inferior status in a way, but an inferior status doesn’t make us inferior people.
Hence, Master’s loathing to think me — especially in more recent times — a slave.
“It’s funny, you know, to think that I’ve never been formally trained by you, and yet in some many ways, I am” I say. He looks at me thoughtfully and I smile.
“It’s also funny, and by both of you, that being myself is ‘being good’… Kind of almost like being bad is being good” I giggle. Master raises an eyebrow at me until I calm. He looks away from me when he thinks I’ve settled.
“Funny world” I mutter and giggle again.
Like clockwork, I didn’t need to ask Master what he wanted this morning; I knew. My hand stroked his chest, he grabbed it and moved it to his stiffening cock, releasing himself from his lounge pants so he could spring free. I wrapped my hand around his shaft and stroked him gently. I feel him flinch and stiffen more as I do.
Master enjoys these morning handjobs lately, and he enjoys making out with me and fondling my breasts as I do him. It’s not that he prefers them over sex, he just sometimes enjoys the sensuality and the simplicity of a handjob.
I feel him flinch and groan against me as I continue stroking him slowly, intentionally. Moments later, I feel the warm streams of his cum cascade over my knuckles.
I continue stroking him to the completion of his orgasm. Master enjoys being completed with his seed for lube.
I allow Master to rest for a moment, then clean him up with a water wipe and tuck him away. I head to the bathroom to clean myself up. When I return, Master is snoozing blissfully.
Master did repay the favour when he woke up. In his words, he wasn’t “leaving here without my breakfast”.
He too keeps it loving and slow. He too left me momentarily unable to talk.
Somewhere in the back of my presently-blown mind, I made a mental note that stealing souls like that could be illegal.
Saturday evening we have Master’s father here, who makes a joke about the “kind of woman” I am, being shut away in the bedroom to finish my post (presumably instead of playing hostess).
I look at him, unimpressed.
“A strong, independent and highly capable one, that’s what” I reply. He thinks I’m joking. I partly am.
His jokes like these are a real test of my patience; they’re outdated and they’re sexist. I like jokes and I like humour, but not ones that are disparaging of me as a woman. I can handle the heat and I can give it back, I just know that he won’t take it the same way I do.
Privately and via Whatsapp, I discussed hand signals with Master Levi while I worked on my posts. It wasn’t something I wanted for me and yet, following on from Shae’s retraining, I realised it was something I’d never actually discussed with him before.
It wasn’t something I wanted for me, and yet, as a submissive, your greatest pleasure is in your service to another. It isn’t all about what you want, sometimes it’s about what your Dominant wants for you.
I closed my eyes and hit ‘enter’. A moment later, I peeked with one tentative eye open.
Master didn’t want it — he gathered that it would be “useless” to him. “I could just fetch my own drinks” he says, he also isn’t interested in objectifying me in such ways. There’s a blush and a smile in this; Master has always valued me highly.
Saturday evening I ended up discussing interior design, of all things, with Mister Valkyries, who is redecorating his bedroom. I offered Sir my own insights, based on how I’d decorate it as if it were my own bedroom. Sir said my suggestions were a “good colour palette”.
So conversation turns to the other things the space needs, which again, my DIY brain is all too happy to help Sir with. I do this with Mr C too; he’s always borrowing me because he wants to “pick your brain” about something.
Realising that our conversation was far more domestic than it was anything hot and kinky, I joked with Sir that I thought this whole Dom/sub thing was supposed to be “rough sex and whippings”, not me helping him redecorate his bedroom. I said that we were “doing it (BDSM) wrong”.
Sir told me to watch Secretary, that there is “work then games” (a good ethos, in my personal opinion), he also said he “thought I was getting”. So I ended up admitting that yes, Master and I have an active sex life, but we haven’t “done BDSM” in too long: I told Sir that I had “forgotten what a paddle feels like”, and Sir said that can be easily rectified. To be clear I know that Master would spank me if I asked, but quite often Master will only spank me because he’s been provoked in some way, not because it really means anything to him. He “goes through the motions” of BDSM, namely for my benefit and because he knows I need this lifestyle more than he does. Sucks, but it is what it is.
I told Sir that I “don’t have anyone who would”, and Sir said that’s “anyone who can”. I bit my lip.
Point well made, Sir.
Sunday
Sunday is another day of domestic bliss for Master and me, with both of us taking on our unassigned (but personally assigned) responsibilities. Master makes it his personal MO to strip the bedding and clean the kitchen, and I make it mine to put clean bedding on the bed and tidy the rooms. Somehow we work.
I did sense some jealousy from Sir while Master and I worked. It’s frustrating and slightly hurtful, but I at least understand why it’s there. I think it’s more frustrating in that his envy is somewhat mistargeted — I would have him if I could, it’s not me who said “no”.
I decided to close down my old guppy fry tank too, given that my guppy fry passion project hadn’t been a huge success. By now I was sure I was spending far more on running that tank than what I was making profit from it.
So I relocated the tank’s occupants, cleaned up and transferred some of the gravel, and closed the tank down. It’s odd having an empty space where the tank once was, but we’re already decided that it will be the perfect place for festive nibbles over Christmas.
Sunday afternoon Master tried to ignite the oven for dinner, nothing. He tried again, still nothing.
So Master got down on his hands and knees, tried to clean all of the components of our gas oven, and tried lighting it again for a third time.
A flash, a loud bang, and Master is sat on the kitchen floor in a state of shock. I’m immediately on my feet.
“Shit! What happened?! Are you okay?!”
I scan him over for any obvious injuries, along with the immediate surroundings for any dangers. Glass from the oven door — and any fires — are my main concerns.
Master is shaking like a leaf and he’s complaining of a stinging stomach, but he’s otherwise unharmed. I move him into the lounge and sit him down on the sofa with a tea towel soaked in cold water over his stomach, then return to the kitchen to assess the damage. There’s no hissing sound and no smell of gas. I think we’re immediately safe.
For both of us, though, it’s an emotional moment. In a flash and right before my very eyes, I narrowly lost my husband, and half of my home.
The oven is now condemned until we can get it inspected. The hob works fine, though neither of us felt like cooking after that. I want to get the damn thing stripped out and replaced with an electric cooker after that little stunt, though Master still insists gas cookers are better.
Late Sunday and into Monday I had quite a heartfelt conversation with Mr Valkyries. I don’t want say too much on it except to say that Sir needed some emotional support in that moment, and I was happy to provide it. Things got discussed, revelations were made. I think we both now have a much better understanding that our relationship is can’t, not won’t.
Talk turns to “missions” — the codename that we’ve created for our masturbation sessions — and I told Sir that I was planning on undertaking a “mission” before sleep. I think we do this to one another; our emotional connection builds up sexual energy, and all of that pent-up sexual energy has to go somewhere.
Sir told me that he didn’t want me to fall asleep until the “debriefing”, and I said that I wasn’t aware there was a debriefing for these things.
Well, as limitations go then there was no “debriefing”, so I hope this mission report will suffice instead:
I decided to kick off my underwear and lay on top of my duvet, legs parted for my “mission”. I decided to use my fingers only; I didn’t want to wake Master, who was sleeping blissfully beside me.
My mind went initially to my medical kink, and Sir — of Sir’s gloved fingers stretching me as I fought to resist the orgasm building inside of me. In the fight between right and wrong I knew that this was wrong, and yet, it felt so right.
Then my mind shifted to the arm of the sofa, to feeling Sir fill me with his hand in my hair in this moment that we’d wanted for too long. I’ve always been sassy and playful to Sir, teasing him about his desire to breed me. so his fucking me and filling me here was exactly what we both wanted and needed.
Suffice to say, the thought of feeling Sir finally fill me with his seed made mine very much “mission accomplished”.
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Until next time!
Stay safe & have fun,
The Thoughts & Musings Of Mrs Wolfie 
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