A delicious dinner and more to gobble up.

Disclaimer: As of next week, I’m cutting these posts back to twice per week — Mondays and Fridays — so that I can get more work done. Although they are enjoyed, too much of a good thing is no good for anyone, including me 😉

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I hadn’t even finished my post when Valkyries tagged me, said I was “it”, and he was looking forward to reading my diary post when he got back from shopping. I shake my head, but I remembered the adage my family swears by: aging is natural, growing up is optional. 

Unfortunately for him, I was finished with my alt texts and post categories before he could get home. No bronze medal for him; I dubbed him a “slowcoach” instead. 

This is how we are, and how Master and I are: it’s a war between us, but it’s flesh wounds, not kill shots. 

We hashed out the outstanding details for the upcoming series too, though I questioned it when Valkyries suggested that the male lead be called “Mr Wildside”.

Mr Wildside? Really? That’s straight to PornHub. 

Despite that — and despite Valkyries saying that I was the one who was worried his car would turn into “a pile of bolts” at the stroke of midnight — we did also hash out some other things. Perhaps, even some more important things. 

I didn’t get to meet Valkyries the gamer, Valkyries the event-attender or Valkyries the family man. I got to meet Valkyries the Dominant. 

Not as a character, but in his lived reality. Not as a Dominant in a scene, but what his standards as a Dominant are. 

And that, maybe, is what I really needed most.

Valkyries said he doesn’t want to control my life, he also doesn’t expect me to live my life his way. For someone who was once mocked and ridiculed for being less than perfect, that is very reassuring to hear.

In a weird way, I can feel my submission creep in here: I don’t need to be anything for him, I already am enough. For both of them. 

It’s funny in a way, because this is relevant to recent conversations, even if they weren’t anything much at the time. After our movie night last Friday, on Saturday, Master and I were discussing the music from the Fifty Shades franchise, and which songs are our favourites. It was after his “Capital Letters” comment: I know Master’s other favourite songs too — Sia’s “Salted Wound” and The Vaults’s “One Last Night”, AKA the “gliding song”. 

“And Ellie Goulding’s ‘Love Me Like You Do’” I point out, “which you used to not let me out of bed for if it was on the morning radio, because we don’t leave snuggles when our songs are playing.” 

“Even if one of us is rapidly approaching forty and often needs to pee first thing” I add. Master grins. 

“That sounds like a you problem” he teases. 

“It won’t be a me problem when I piss the bed. Remember, you do the laundry” I say. 

For me, Rolling Stone’s “Beast Of Burden” is probably it, (though I’ll throw Fran Sinata’s “Witchcraft” in the mix too, because who doesn’t like a bit of jazz?). Even if it doesn’t exactly say as much, I don’t ever want to be a burden for either of my Sirs. I even actively try not to be. 

One of the things that Valkyries and I discussed on Wednesday was “needy” submissives; they are seemingly something that we have both experienced. They are also perhaps a part of what put me off of continuing my journey as a Dominant woman — I’m already responsible for looking after myself, I don’t want to be responsible for looking after anyone else. 

Even if some people live and enjoy a very “immersive” BDSM lifestyle (and thank you to slave Shae again for her lovely comment about my choice to call it “immersive” in this post), I firmly believe that one of the best things a submissive can be is self-sufficient. Not only does it help to protect the submissive in the unfortunate event that something should ever happen to the dynamic with their Dominant, it also helps the Dominant by decreasing their workload. Responsibility for the submissive should be something the Dominant wants to take on; it should not be something the submissive needs to thrive. 

Also, in my experience, having something (like a blog) that you have built yourself makes you attractive to a Dominant: it demonstrates your worth and capability. So long as your work is a demonstration of your ability, rather than a platform for their pride. 

Wednesday evening Master Levi is at a gig, so I’m home alone. I’d been a bit anxious about it for weeks — especially after he dropped the news on me like it was some compulsory event for him to attend — but cometh the hour, the time seems to fly by. I’ve got work to do, and a new product to test. 

I was going to treat myself and order a takeaway, but it seems far too expensive when I can just cook instead. I think about what it is I really fancy — sweet and sour chicken — and set about buying the ingredients. 

I found some chicken pops in the freezer, so I gathered they’d do in place of homemade battered chicken. Apart from my faux pas of ordering a stir-fry sweet and sour sauce instead of the stuff with vegetables in (I thought it was a smaller portion meant for one person, my bad), it was a perfectly reasonable meal that cost me a fraction of what a takeaway would have — and I found some vegetable spring rolls in the freezer to boot. 

Mr C needs my help finding a lost parcel, so I step out to help him. There’s no immediate indication as to where the parcel might be.

He finds it tucked down the side of some garden storage away from our front door — a situation that feels a bit staged to me — then he stops and engages me in a half-hour conversation about sex and sex toys. I’m polite and neighbourly, but I’m not remotely interested in playing at relationships with him anymore.  

That ship has sailed. 

Wednesday and after the gig, Master comes home to find me naked (that was the appropriate way for a submissive woman to be testing toys in future, I’d told myself). Master manhandles me in the hallway, which feels strangely inappropriate and hot at the same time — says if this is what he comes home to when he goes out, then he’d go out far more often. The roughness of his coat against the softness of my breasts feels debasing in a delicious way. 

One thing led to another, and after a discussion about our evenings I wound up with him — still clothed (though sans one raincoat) — in my mouth. I must have put on the performance of a lifetime because at one point, Master’s usual “fuck” of satisfaction sounds more like an existential question. It causes me a quiet giggle to myself. 

I did ask Master Levi what he thought about the idea of a threesome between himself, Valkyries and myself as well — said that after my mini meltdown the other day, he almost seemed disappointed (by my reaction) and I was concerned that I had “trodden on a rake” (to quote Valkyries). Master said he wasn’t disappointed; said that he understood my feelings towards the idea and that we’d all need to be comfortable with one another (and the idea) before it could go ahead. So a very logical answer, but perhaps not an honest one. Enigmatic as ever, Mr S. 

Thursday evening we caught up with the family for a roast turkey dinner. A little odd in February, I do realise, but Mum couldn’t do Christmas dinner because of her spinal surgery, so she’s been adamant to get us all together for a roast turkey dinner as soon as possible to use up the bird she’d bought. Now she has, and she’s happy, and it was wonderful and very flavourful. 

I opted to wear a heather knitted jumper, jeans and low-heel beige suede boots, set off with a bun and pearl and diamanté drop earrings – it’s a sweet, comfortable, “family” vibe that far from suggests I’m a woman who writes about kinky sex. I sent Valkyries a cheeky selfie, and he approves. 

Mum accuses me of starting an “addiction” in her, to the Indian sweet, soan papdi. Both Mum and I like it, but I saw it on Amazon before Christmas and so I put a couple of boxes under the tree for her. Mum is proud of how little she has per day, and how long she is making it last. 

“You normally pay about £6 per box?” She asks. I smile – she’s already checked out the prices. 

“If you buy in bulk directly from the supplier, it’s about £2.50 per box, but you have to pay £5 postage. So the more you buy, the cheaper per box it gets” she says. She shows me her sheet of workings as proof. 

“How interesting” I say. “So tell me did you just happen upon that information or…?” I tease. My father-in-law laughs heartily. 

“Oh piss off” Mum says. She threatens to whap me upside the head with her notepad and I laugh. 

Religion comes up too, and I jokingly said that I was going to pray to God that Mum gets a softer sofa — her cream leather settee is like sitting on a cold stone slab. After a while, it really hurts the ass. 

Master quips that he’s sure God has “more important” concerns than tending to the demands of my tender tush. 

“How would you know?” You don’t believe in him” I shoot back. “Though speaking of our father’s priorities on his behalf? I shall pray for your forgiveness.”

“Why forgive him? Why not condemn him instead?” Mum asks. 

“Mother, you know it is not our place to pass judgement upon others” I say. Mum cusses under her breath and I laugh again. 

In other news, I learned last night that I’m not 1/32 Irish like I thought  — I’m 1/8 Irish, on my father’s side. 

“That probably explains my spicy side” I say matter-of-factly. 

Finally, my blog came up, in a conversation between Master and myself, that also involved my mother after she overheard me say “could reach 300 views tonight”. As it was, my views in a single day hit almost 400 yesterday, the first time in more than two months and after I managed to accidentally toggle the privacy settings of my blog to “coming soon”. 

So I explained my situation to my mother. I showed her my Jetpack graphs too, with my stats prior to my little booboo. I tell her that I have started using Pinterest, and that has also brought me an increase in blog traffic. 

“Oh, wow” she says, genuinely amazed. For once, I feel good in talking to her about my blog. Finally, my mother has seen that my work pays off. 

Last night, and back at home, I learned something that left me with mixed feelings: I didn’t start myself on the small butt plug the other day — I started myself on the medium size. I’m surprised, a little horrified and quietly proud all at once. 

No wonder I was a little sore. 

I did try the smaller plug last night, and though much more comfortable (and, ahem, “effective”), it did leave some lingering soreness after a while. So I may need to go shopping yet again, only this time for an anal-specific lube.