Sometimes a sense of safety is the most destabilizing thing of all.

Somewhere in my mind we’re still in that pillbox, locked in a stand-off between my desire to stay or leave. Logic tells me to run, says that these situations aren’t safe for me. He’s read my mind, seen me glance at the door, and now he’s daring me to try.

I know that look, I know men like Valkyries — I married one. They’re not cruel, but they are intentional, and they tend to succeed when they do. Sure I could run, but where would I run to? 

Some part of me isn’t even sure it wants to run: for as much as logic tells me we need to leave, he makes it so I want to stay. No, he doesn’t trap me — he makes me feel safe, and that’s somehow even more destabilizing than any direct threat could be. I’m trained to handle many situations, but not this one. 

I sense in him a kind of sadness. Not a man to be pitied, but a man who craves to be understood. Maybe some part of him sees that in me too? Damn it, what kind of sorcery is this?! 

He dares me again: go on, Belle, try me. 

Belle, that’s his nickname for me, taken from my username and made into his own. I didn’t ask for it; he afforded me it himself. I’m not so sure that I mind. 

Damn it, I’ve spent too long thinking about this, and he’s… smiling? 

I comment on the forum, and within moments, Valkyries has “hearted” it. I roll my eyes. Your grey flags are showing again, Sir. 

I commented on another thread, said that I was another with a “weird and wonderful mind”. Valkyries “hearts” that too, messages me privately and asks whether he’s on my mind. Oh really. 

So I returned fire: I told Valkyries that if he had to know whether he was on my mind then I was already on his. No way was I going to make it that easy for him! 

Besides, if he knew the thoughts that were swirling around inside my mind then they might drive a man to distraction, and that would be most rude of me. Not that they weren’t fun, of course. 

An anecdote: Master, too, loves the way my mind works. Too often during our lovemaking a thought or fantasy will cross my mind, he’ll read me and demand that I share it. Precious little gets to be mine alone these days. 

Back to Valkyries and being his prisoner: there was another moment on Friday when I joked about being his judicial prisoner, and Valkyries mentioned corporal punishment or hard labour. Neither are really a threat for me: Valkyries knows I work hard anyway, and he’s been perfectly clear that he has no intention of causing me “bad pain”. 

But, again, if he thought this was going to be easy for him, I hit him with a few word puns of my own. About long sentences, and “doing hard time”. Oh that poor, sweet man. 

One could be forgiven for wondering who the real prisoner is in this little scenario of ours.

In these past few days, a word has entered our vocabulary that hasn’t been there before: partners. 

That doesn’t mean to say that we’re romantic partners, but then again, it doesn’t mean to say that there’s not some kind of loving feeling there. That it isn’t slowly melting into something deeper, more interwoven, and more formidable. 

Less Pride & Prejudice perhaps, more War & Peace, maybe. 

I suppose that I came to the realisation when I found myself singing some Steps, of all things. It’s been years since I sang that song. Like… twenty of them, in fact.

So then, I realised, another of theirs must also be true.

And to be honest? Whatever this is, it just… works. 

Never in a million years though did I think I — a woman who left organised religion — could be so close to an aspiring clergyman.

I’m pleased to say that peace has now held for more than seventy-two hours between Master Levi and me. Master thoroughly cleaned the kitchen over the weekend, and we have been discussing going out and doing things together again soon. We did have a bit of a blip given that Master can’t see the tasks on my Google Calendar and so he can’t see what needs doing, but that can be managed with another app and copying chores over. It was more mutually frustrating than it was a return to fighting.

But just as we take on a new app, we are giving up on another — Obedience. It’s good for D/s couples who like reward/punishment based structure, but I find it quite infantilizing, time-consuming (to make sure I check in on time), and just generally icky — not only, but my 10PM daily check-in alarm was driving my poor husband insane. We used it in our last poly quad, with L and N, but now it sort of sits as a relic of a time gone by. Embrace — the BDSM journalling app — however, does still work for us: it aids with communication and the prompts give me ideas to write about, and Master the opportunity to give me something to do. 

“It does work for making sure you eat lunch, though” Master says of Obedience.  

“Except you’re rather good at interrogating a confession out of me, which sort of bypasses the need for the app, and therefore your argument is moot” I smile.

“Besides, with the pair of you on my ass now? Sometimes air-frying a handful of Quorn nuggets and sticking them between two slices of bread is just that much easier than having to justify — twice — why I didn’t eat lunch today.”

“Good, then our system works.”

“You surprise me sometimes, I wasn’t expecting you to say that” I say wryly. Master gives me a stern look and I giggle. 

To wrap these past few days up, fellow blogger and sister submissive Olivia shared her recent adventures with a tawse in a blog post, which got me thinking… I’ve tried (and loved) several implements in my time, but even in my twenty years in the BDSM community, I’ve never tried a tawse before. So, I’ve bookmarked one to buy next week.

I’m not afraid, I’m curious. 

Alright, maybe I’m a bit scared. A “belt on steroids”, as Olivia called it? Yikes!