Titles aren’t assumed, they’re given.

Friday

Friday comes with a sense of relief, but also a mixed bag of emotions. It’s done now, it’s over: after two cancelled surgeries and the tragic loss of a surgeon, Mum has finally had her surgery. 

Mum is actually doing really well: when she messages me first thing, she says she’d walked fifty metres unaided. Mum had told her consultant that she hoped to walk a mile in the new year. He told her that, if she looks after herself, she may even be able to walk two. 

“I’m going to have to get myself in shape now, so that I can keep up with you” I say. It was hardly a joke; it’s something that I plan to do, so we can have some nice times together in the new year.

Mum is home in the early evening, she calls me as soon as she gets back. She says she’s in pain but she thinks that was from the journey, rather than the surgery itself. 

“I walked from my bed to the car with only my rollator for some support, because it was a bit further than what I expected” she says excitedly. “Honestly, Elena, I can’t believe how good I feel!” she continues. It raises a watery smile. 

The limits on Mum aren’t what she thought they’d be either: Mum thought she couldn’t do any bending, twisting or lifting at all, but basically she’s not allowed to try and touch her toes, she’s not allowed to do full torso twists, and she’s not allowed to lift anything heavier than a full kettle for the next six weeks — that’s it!

“So basically, don’t try and impersonate a weighlifting owl” I joke.

“Who?” she says. We both laugh. 

Friday afternoon, I’m “off”; not in a bad mood, just “off” — I’m sighing a lot and I’m contemplative. Master enquires, so then I try to draw the only parallel that I can think to use. 

“You know how, before we became official, you probably went through a phase where you weren’t sure if you loved me, romantically?” I ask. Master nods. 

“That, only, not with you. I’m stuck with you now, can’t bloody get rid of you” I wink. 

“Do you want me to go?” Master asks. 

“Do you want to go?”

“No.”

“Well then.”

Later Friday I was in for a surprise: a “Master Valkyries” commented on my blog, in a comment that only Mister Valkyries normally makes to me, privately. 

MASTER Valkyries? Says who, and since when? 

So I called Valkyries up on it, and he denied any knowledge of it. I’m not buying it: I asked Valkyries if he was familiar with the expression, “if it looks like a duck, waddles like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s probably a duck”. Valkyries said that you “fuck the duck and make her quack, breed her until she waddles all the more”. I bit my lip. 

You’re not fighting fair, Valkyries. 

I told Valkyries that I knew a “duck” who had had a thought about being bred (by the “drake” in question, no less) in front of a full-length mirror, a fantasy that occupied her mind earlier in the day. If you want to play, Valkyries, then let’s play. 

Valkyries said that I’d had a few thoughts like that recently. I denied that it had anything to do with me. 

Just a duck, a very lucky duck, I said. 

Valkyries asks what happens if he pulls the trigger, and I’ll admit, I was still thinking all war and peace here. I was thinking literally, not, well… sexually.

So I asked Valkyries why he would that, and Valkyries clarified:

No, shooting her is the term given to him ejaculating, releasing and relaxing his pelvic muscles at the point he can’t control and shooting his load deep filling her, coating the eggs in the hope that the next generation carries his DNA. 

Again I bit lip. Holy cow, how the hell did he just make procreation sound so damn hot? 

Saturday

Saturday morning I spiralled hard. Not over Mum — she’s home and healing now — but over Valkyries. What the hell to do about this little “situation” that we’re now in? 

Maybe I was getting there, and I thought we were getting there, but I didn’t think we were there yet. It was one of those “ maybe someday” things, not a “today” thing, at least not until it was. 

I’d also said in my reply to “Master Valkyries” that I had “planned to put in a good word” with my mother, after all his support during Mum’s surgery, I just hadn’t done it yet, and because A) I didn’t think we were at that point yet and B) the poor love has just had spinal surgery. 

I don’t think my family have heard as much about a man since Master Levi, and Mum adores him, but it becomes a little harder for me to put a good word in for a man who has assumed his role in my life, prematurely. 

It’s also hard for me, emotionally — Valkyries is not a bad man; he’s donut with good intentions. Good men like him don’t come by very often.

“If he was an asshole, I could just put him in the ‘asshole’ box and be done with him” I told myself, “but he’s not, and that makes it that much harder.”

Nope, indeed, Valkyries is anything but an asshole. A pain in the ass sometimes maybe, but not an asshole. 

One of my biggest concerns perhaps is that Valkyries and I appear to have different BDSM lifestyle preferences: Valkyries used to attend swinging events and has spoken of returning to them, and Master and I, contrarily, abandoned the public BDSM scene in favour of a more private one — these days and now that we have our own home, we even prefer a more intimate, “everyday” BDSM lifestyle, where the only rules we follow are the ones we set ourselves. Could we face a clash of lifestyle preferences there? 

Second, and kind of related, but a lot of the BDSM Valkyries enjoyed in the past appears to have been centred in sex-based things. Given that, what use does he have for a service submissive whose submission contains sex, but isn’t centred upon it?

Third, and quite a way down the pipeline, but I have no idea how Master would feel about another man breeding me — that’s kind of just his thing, presently. Sure it’s a hot fantasy, but there’s also a very real chance that it may be a bridge too far for him. What then? 

Fourth, Valkyries holds a church leadership role within his church, and I’m agnostic…. How would that work? I’ve long rejected my Christian teachings, especially the Holy Trinity and the image of God as a singular being. I also don’t believe anyone has seen God; I believe “God” is everywhere. 

Finally, and perhaps the most important, let us not forget that Valkyries and I haven’t even met, spoken on the phone/video call or even swapped photos yet. For as far as he (or anyone) knows, I could be a rather sophisticated AI. 

Of course, it only takes Valkyries five minutes to make my brain forget its earlier episode. 

Valkyries makes a joke, which I accidentally took seriously at first, so Valkyries tries an “Englishman, Irish man and a Scotsman” joke instead. I love people who make those: when you make such jokes with me, I know I’m dealing with someone who can take a joke, too. 

A brief sidenote: when I was a kid, my brother used to do comedy shows at our local youth club, on a “stage” made out of tables. It was my job to hide under the “stage” and knock on the underside any time he went off script and told an “Englishman, Irishman and Scotsman” joke to an audience far too young to understand. Little did he or I know that later in life, it would be me who takes to the stage. 

Still though, I sense a chance to wind Valkyries up. I ask him if he thinks I’d be impressed by such jokes. 

Valkyries panics, explains his sense of humour to me. I smile. 

Gotcha 😉

Valkyries asks what’s going to get me into trouble for the day, so I explained that I’m a brat — said it’s “like breathing” to me. 

While we talk, my brain comes up with a joke at my Dominant counterparts’ expense: 

Three comedians walk into a room. Two take a seat, the other takes the stage. 

I also told Valkyries that I like my Doms like I like my nuts: lightly (and lovingly) roasted. I realised after that they’d probably like their sub the same way. 

Saturday lunchtime I took Huxley outside. Rose, my upstairs neighbour’s daughter, comes skipping around the corner. 

I disconnected my earpiece. I’m not listening, though I’m still watching him very closely. 

“Umm, when you can, can you talk to my daddy please?” she asks. 

“Of course I can Rose, let me grab my jacket and I’ll be out” I reply. Mr C never lets me go too soon, so I might as well wrap up warm. 

My tone with Mr C, of course, is completely different. 

“You wanted me?” I call out as I reach the back garden. 

Mr C wants to talk about the partitioning fence; it’s leaning in and out and he plans on replacing it in the new year, “when you replace your shed”. I sense a mutually beneficial deal to be made here. 

“If you can take the shed apart for us, you won’t have to worry about affording the fence panels” I say. It’s an offer he struggles to refuse. 

“Alright, sound” he says, “thankyou very much” he adds. 

Mr C talks Freya, and I talk Valkyries. It’s funny because as I talk Valkyries, Mr C starts talking “us” — not in the romantic sense, but in terms of our friendship. 

He recalls the time he pranked me by shouting “BANG!” from his rear-facing kitchen window, just as I moved to turn off our shed alarm, and he fondly recalls how I got him back with an emptied-out party popper. He speaks about how he appreciated that I waited for him to down tools, before I made him jump out of his skin. 

He did check his tools though — the pop was so loud, he thought one of his batteries had exploded. I still remember my line to him as well: “your tools are fine, but your pants might not be.”

He got roasted, too. 

Mr C and I talk writing, and as he talks about the story he wrote, I can’t help but smile to myself. About male writers and their need to be the saviours of the women in their stories. 

I wind up telling him about my story of Cadet Ruckford. How she is a survivor on a dystopian, post-apocalyptic planet. 

“A bit like my story” he says. 

“Maybe, but different” I reply, “she’s not trying to save anyone, she’s just trying to survive. But there’s this guy who sees her, sees her potential.”

Mr C mentions something about his lead being a captain of a spaceship. I roll my eyes. 

“What is it about men, captaining spaceships?” I ask. He continues, about “Annie” liking the more scientific parts of his story. 

“Intelligent minds are drawn to intelligent minds. Crazy stuff” I say sarcastically.

“It’s the way we analyse stuff” he says. 

Analyse stuff? Like how certain things are “interesting”? Or to be observed and… analysed? That kind of “analysing stuff”? 

I become aware all too late that I’m staring at him like a deer caught in the headlights. I try to recompose myself. 

“Anyway, I really have to go eat my lunch now” I say, and make a hasty exit. 

Sunday 

I’m up early again, lost in my music again, dwelling on this whole “situation” again. I know now what it is: it’s those blasted invasion detection & neutralisation systems, sounding off and alerting me to the incoming threat. With some systems it’s too late, but others can still be used to take him out. 

I have my commander in my ear: “damn it, Cadet! He threatened to shoot you! What more of a provocation do you need?!”

Of course, five minutes later and I’m quite contentedly engaging with the “invader” once again.

Valkyries and I discussed our childhood, and I told him how, in my home, people who watched TV were considered “bored” and promptly assigned household chores. Sir said that it was “a good use of child labour”, a sentiment my mother would wholeheartedly agree with. 

I reminded Sir that I still had yet to put in a good word for him; my mother doesn’t have to think him a nice guy. I have the power right here, and right here, I can bend the narrative to suit my will. 

Sir said he was agreeing with her, that he was therefore “quids in”. Admittedly, I hadn’t thought of that.

So I told Valkyries to be my guest, to see how that goes for him with his objectives.

Sir said that he has “ovjectives”. Oh dear God. 

I asked Valkyries if that’s all I am to him, “breeding meat”. Sir said that I was “(a) servant, entertainment and breeding stock.”

Three times more useful than you thought 😁

I told Sir that I was “glad I have my uses”, though I questioned his use of the term “breeding stock”. Valkyries said that he “knew that would raise an eyebrow”, he then went on to distinguish the difference between “breeding stock” and “breeding meat” — one implies care and value, the other implies a purpose and end point:  being consumed.

All things considered, I wasn’t so sure that being eaten and bred sounded like a bad way to go.

So I asked Valkyries if — under his definition — if a woman couldn’t also consider herself as having a “breeding stock”: two men she cares about, and also plans to breed with. That is the definition we’re going with here, right? 

Valkyries agrees, he knows he has no other option 😉

As it was, I did have a conversation with Mum not long after my conversation with Mister Valkyries, and I did put in a good word for him too. Mum only advises me to be careful, for Master Levi’s sake as well as my own. 

Sunday afternoon, I had a different conversation with Master Levi. Sure, it wasn’t one that I planned to have yet, but here we are. 

“How would you feel about Valkyries being Master Valkyries to me?” I ask. 

“It’s no worry to me, you know I get along well with Valkyries” he says. 

“Too bloody well, that’s the problem” I reply. 

“No, that’s your problem” he winks. I glare at him. 

A little later, my brain starts playing Heath Hunter’s Master & Servant. I realise too late the subliminal message.

I tell Valkyries that I’m “cooked”, I’m as good as done for — even my own brain is betraying me now. 

Valkyries says that’s his “Master plan” — he is too proud of himself for that one.

Sunday evening and for whatever reason, my mind slips involuntarily into subspace. My skin tingles and my brain feels like it’s made of plasticine — I feel completely and utterly suggestible. 

I tell Valkyries about my altered mental state. It’s not something he’s had to deal with in me before, how might he handle it? 

Sir said he is “happy for you”.

He’s happy for me? What kind of Dominant response is that? “I’m happy for you” is the kind of thing you might say to a colleague whose partner has just surprised them with a weekend getaway, not a potential partner who has practically just invited you to play with their kinky little mind.

So unfortunately, I realised at that point that we really are singing from different song sheets. We may get there someday, but Mister Valkyries hasn’t quite Mastered me yet 😉

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Until next time!

Stau safe & have fun,

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