War, peace… and snuggle monster certainties.

Monday

Monday is largely quiet, uneventful as my days sometimes go. I got some blog work done, some housework done — some general manning of the station, as it were.

On his way home from work, Master sent me a screenshot of a Tinder conversation (not his own) in which another member had struck up a conversation with the user. They said they wanted to ask a question, only instead of addressing the matter directly (“what are your thoughts on spanking?”, or even “what are your thoughts on BDSM?”), they asked the user indirectly: they asked if they’d ever been spanked as a child. It annoys me — projection is a form of manipulation, and I can’t stand manipulative, game-playing people. 

Master calls me out as being unsympathetic; he says not everyone had the upbringing I had. That annoys me too; it wrongly assumes my childhood was liberal and open, when it wasn’t, at all. 

No, if anything I was raised in a rather conservative household, by parents who were living a sex-filled double life. 

I was led to falsely believe, by my mother, that women don’t enjoy sex. I had to discover for myself (and through wanting to spite her for blaming me for her lack of self-control) that some women do in fact enjoy sex. Only, instead of addressing the issues in her marriage, she had lied to her own flesh and blood. 

She still draws a distinction even now, by the way, between ladies and women. 

Ladies are modest, classy, don’t engage in sex-filled things. She’s a lady, as all ladies should aspire to be.

Women, on the other hand? Women are whores, women are animals; we’d breed with the stray street dogs if they’d have us. She speaks disparagingly of women: we’re below society and below civilisation — we’re animals. 

Well, I may act like an animal sometimes, but she’s right; I am a woman, and a damn fine one at that.

So back to the story.

I clipped Master’s wings for him, reminded him that I didn’t have the liberal upbringing he seemed to think I did, and we moved on…

…To the way my “lady” mother sometimes way overshares on her sex views.

Like last week, when she mentioned pinwheels in BDSM, and I pretty much shrugged them off. 

The room went silent, much to my dismay.

But I LIKE pinwheels.

Master remembered that I nicknamed them “ouchie wheels” in a moment of Malteser-fuelled stupidity a few weekends ago, and they are now and forevermore “ouchie wheels” to him. 

But we got to discussing them: his love for them, my love-hate relationship with them, and how I absolutely refuse to give him — or any Dom — the satisfaction of “breaking” me (consensually). 

Alright so they usually succeed (determined buggers), but that’s not the point. In the moment it’s just a fun scene, for both of us. 

And Master, the darling love of my life and the centre of my universe, has clocked that pinwheels are just great at breaking what refuses to be broken.

Hence, his utter adoration for the damn things. Master knows that after long enough of him torturing me, what breaks me is not the way he courses the wheel over my skin like he’s preparing me for the roasting tray, but the moment he suddenly and unexpectedly… stops.

Nothing breaks a strong submissive’s will quite like uncertainty.

So I told Master that he “would be bored if I made it too easy” and he said that I had “dropped a gauntlet” and he offered to pick it up for me. To that I simply replied with a Lumiere gif, from Beauty & The Beast, with white overlay text that read “be our guest”. He asked if it was “like that” and I responded with a yawn gif, so he asked me if I “know which week it is (Kinky Fuckery Thursday week), and I said that there was a Tuesday and a Wednesday before Thursday, then followed it with a Catherine Tate, “Am I Bovvered?” gif. Master said that “someone has it (fire) in her tonight” and I said that “maybe she hasn’t, and maybe that’s the problem”. 

Well, he didn’t douse my fire, but he certainly drained me of my energy levels when he got home. 

Also Monday, Valkyries gave me a lecture about my bedtime. I’m arms folded in defiance: I’m a grown-ass woman, Sir — 2AM is my bedtime!

Apparently Sir disagrees, he also plans to talk to Master about it. May heaven help me 

Tuesday

Tuesday is another day of relative nothingness, though Valkyries and I chat throughout the day, as usual. At times the flirting is intense, but I’m not going to let myself be rattled by it. Fearless, exactly as this little frigate should be.  

It’s lovely in its own way; we had a nice conversation about not being perfect people, and how we’ve both suffered for years of putting ourselves last. After being judged, mocked and criticised by W, it’s so lovely to have found someone who accepts me for me, and even better, who can handle me, exactly as I am. 

Also Tuesday Mum got her new surgery date, in two weeks time, so that means she’s likely to be recovering over Christmas and as such, Christmas at Mum’s is back off the menu. Fortunately we have an “emergency” turkey crown in the freezer, so we can still have my father-in-law here, after all. So I’m back to planning Christmas like it’s just another military operation of mine — Operation: Tinsel Takeover, commence. 

We discussed the shed too, and the decision is it’s being condemned in the new year. I think Mum wanted to save it, but right now it’s a battle between what’s feasible (for the two of us to do) and what might actually work, now or in the long run. Throwing a tarpaulin over it to keep the rain off might work, even as a long-term roofing material, but will it also keep the rats out? Probably not. 

Tuesday evening I read slave Shae’s latest post, and I couldn’t help but note her own military-themed language. It elicits a giggle. 

Oh no! Have I accidentally encouraged a whole other transatlantic alliance? 

Shae and I are sisters in submission anyway, but with us both talking a kind of military language in our training and submission, it feels again, shared — like a camaraderie across the pond, if you will. 

So I mentioned it to Valkyries, who also reads Shae’s blog, and I said that I was aware that if I wanted to “play Cadet” — a nod to my fictional character, Cadet Ruckford, in our once-planned fictional story — he’d “have no problem with playing Commander”. In fact, and if I knew Valkyries, he’d even quite enjoy it. 

I also thought I could remember a time when I had called him “Commander” before, and I had — Commander Snookiebear. 

“Commander Snookiebear”, at that time, was not meant as a cute or affectionate nickname: it was meant with a slightly undermining, having-the-last-laugh tone, given that Sir kept saying “hi Mum!” any time Tuesday rocked around. He knew my routine so damn well, he even knew when I was seeing my mother!

So I stopped saying “Valkyries says hi”, and I changed it instead to “Sir Snookiebear sends his regards instead”. 

I was proud of myself. Your move, Sir. 

So Tuesday evening it stayed like that for a while. An observation, nothing more. 

Later into the evening, Valkyries messaged me: At attention Cadet. 

So me being me, and being the idiot that both Master and Valkyries by now know I can be, I went along with it. 

Yes Sir. 

Sir asked how my evening was, but then he called me “Cadet Cuddles”. 

Cadet Cuddles?! What the…?!

I told Mister Valkyries that calling me “Cadet Cuddles” was “a declaration of war”, though perhaps Cadet Cuddles’ most effective weapon is making a Daddy Dom feel so safe, cosy and relaxed, he can’t help but doze off for a few hours. Just ask Master Levi 😉 

Also Tuesday, Master needed my fashion advice. Well, he was planning without me, but I caught wind of his plan and spared him from a fashion disaster. 

Master has his work Christmas party next week, though he was planning to wear a black shirt under a navy jacket with indigo jeans and black shoes. I abolished that plan and when he gets home, I’m in full throttle Edna Mode mode once more. 

“What you need, dahling, is light. Look at you, you’re light! It’s a Christmas party, not a Christmas funeral! No black, dahling, not black. Now, come come, jeans first, let’s get a look at you.”

Master — like me — has brown hair and blue eyes. I think his hair is slightly lighter than mine, and it’s more textured; mine’s just dark brown and thick. 

He laughs and shakes his head as I stand back and assess him. 

“You’re liking this far too much” he says.

“Yes yes, now turn, dahling,” I grin, “the night is yours. You’re a superstar!”

So we’ve decided on dark jeans (he insists), a navy blazer (he insists on that too), a light blue shirt and brown shoes. It’s not a look I’ve seen on him before, but according to Shadow, black leather would “be too dominant”. Ha! 

Tuesday evening, Master croaked at me — his voice is going and his sinuses are filling up. I know what that means; I also know what’s to come. 

Wednesday

I picked up a comment from a reader who said they used to not like my diary posts. That’s always a bit perturbing; I try not to write things my audience don’t like! 

So I had to ask: if not, why not? I mean, now is the chance for growth, right? 

So it turns out I’ve caused some confusion with all of these name changes, and yeah, mea culpa. I can admit I was kind of stubborn about it, and Shadow did warn me about it, but I had a kind of “they’ll just have to keep up with me, Shadow” attitude. Well, it turns out, maybe not all of you can 😉 

So just a quick recap: the main two protagonists in my life are Master Levi, my legal husband who I’ve been with for almost twenty years, and (Mister) Valkyries. Master and I met in the office through an old friend, his then-girlfriend. She betrayed us both, gave us a common enemy and the rest as they say is history. 

(Mister) Valkyries, aka Commander Snookiebear, is my close friend and work husband, who also gets along quite well with my legal one. Valkyries got his name after I sent him a screenshot of my phone playing the Mission: Impossible theme — suggesting that trying to get close to me would be mission: impossible — and Sir told me that I might like to try Wagner’s Ride Of The Valkyries instead. So ever since then, and given that I still run circles around him sometimes, he’s been “(Mister) Valkyries” to me.   

For clarity’s sake I shall probably stick to (Mister) Valkyries on my blog, except for where it matters. 

Then we have Huxley, our loveable scruff of a Jack Russell. Huxley is ten years old but still acts like he’s three. 

Next there’s Mr C, our neighbour. Mr C is an enigma unto himself. No need for EastEnders or Real Housewives, his life stories are more than dramatic enough. My favourites of his claims to fame include his supposedly working for Bill Gates, being besties with Miley Cyrus and co-founding Badoo. Mr C claims to be in a “throuple” with two women, Annie and Freya, though I’ve seen neither. Probably an estimated 60% chance he really has a crush on me. 

Then there is Mum and my brother. Mum, as has been mentioned a few times (including earlier in this post) is currently awaiting spinal decompression surgery, my brother is just shy of two years younger than me. We are close and then we are not, as siblings go. I’ve seen it on a t-shirt before: “siblings: you’d give your kidney to them in a heartbeat, but you won’t lend them your phone charger”. It’s kind of like that. 

Finally I suppose, and because they are relevant to my story to date, my three poly exes, W, B and L (and N, my partner/metamour). W was emotionally abusive, believed in “tough love” but really used “tough love” to be a condescending p-…erson. It wasn’t all bad though; W’s treatment of me taught me what abuse looked like in relationships, helped me to see my worth and learn how to set boundaries — something I was never allowed as a child. 

Then there was my friend-turned-partner, B. B planned to meet someone else without telling me first, and try as I might to forgive and forget, I simply couldn’t — we were supposed to be close-friends-turned-partners and it felt like everything we’d built together was thrown away in one selfish decision. I did later try and repair the friendship, but sadly, B chose not to engage with me. 

Finally there was L and N, and that situation was convoluted, for want of a better word. L and I were penpals (via the Slowly app), and N wanted to try BDSM, so I suggested she serve alongside me — under Master Levi — and I would give L the “Dom experience” (of an experienced submissive) at the same time. It turned out that L and I both had long-standing crushes on one another, so we opened our hearts and minds to a full poly relationship, not just the kink. That went well (L and I used to talk for hours on the phone) and things slowly warmed between Master and N, and N and I also formed a sapphic relationship of our own, with me as the more Dominant one. 

Unfortunately, L and N hadn’t told us at the start that they were trying to get pregnant at the same time as opening up their relationship, and so when controls were implemented (to protect their pregnancy plans), things quickly went awry. In the end I was the first to walk away from that “polycule” — because of the abhorrent lack of respect that I started experiencing in it — and it fell apart completely soon after. 

So after that, I said never again. It was just Master and me from here on out — we said we couldn’t do polyamory again. 

Enter Valkyries. 

Valkyries knows what I’ve been through — at least most of it — he understands. There’s no pressure to be anything more than what we are in our relationship, and that may be the most beautiful thing. 

Finally, and despite my fears and reservations, I have someone else in my life who loves and respects me for me. 

Once again I wasn’t looking for him, yet, he found me anyway. 

So that brings us to Wednesday lunchtime. Valkyries called me “Cadet Cuddles” once again, and I asked him whether that name was “going to stick”.

Sir, gracious as he is, offered to stop if I wanted him to. I said that I’m fine with “Cadet Cuddles”, as long as he knows that “Commander Snookiebear” shall also stay. 

Valkyries said that he was “unfazed” by it, as I am by his nickname for me. I understood that moment of delicious tension; neither of us was going to let ourselves be fazed by the other, we also didn’t want to be. In war and peace, we were staring down the rifle of one another’s weapons, daring the other to pull the trigger. Neither of us really wanted to, we both knew what this moment meant. 

So in the end our little battle has reached a peaceful conclusion, though perhaps not without my one last warning shot across his bow:

Just be careful that if you’re going to start commanding, you don’t overestimate your power and cause a mutiny 😉 

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Until next time!

Stay safe & have fun!

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