Yesterday morning was not such a good morning for me: Huxley attacked my feet, not once, but twice. 

The first time I’d asked him to go in his crate for his breakfast, and Huxley had decided that he didn’t want to do that today. I took him outside once he’d calmed to “reset” him, brought him back in and tried again, and he did the same again. So I realised this was a daytime crate aversion, not my dog suddenly despising my existence. 

So I formulated a new plan: in his chaos I managed to lure Huxley out into the hallway, where I slammed the door shut behind him and left him to calm his shit down while I got some breakfast in me. Fortunately he’s only a Jack Russell, so he doesn’t possess the body weight to check the door and get to me regardless.  

After that I used a kibble-stuffed toy and treats thrown away from me while I got to my bedroom-office in peace. Huxley was for that game, and I survived yesterday without further incident. 

I’ve now got some steel toe capped clogs, because while he’s never drawn blood, Huxley does make my toes quite sore when he makes his feelings known. I’m also perhaps fortunate enough that he goes for my toes, rather than my ankles — they’re a lot easier to protect. 

I plan to add more play time to his schedule, and daily calming treats. If I can just knock the edge off of his anxiety and reactivity, I might yet reduce his naughty little habit of expressing his strong opinions with his teeth. 

I did spend some time “retraining” Master Levi last night as well, which sounds both paradoxical and rather humorous. Master normally does lkitchen things with the safety gate closed but the kitchen door open, causing Huxley to jump up at the gate and bark. With the door closed and Daddy out of view, Daddy became remarkably boring to him. 

Essentially, we’re trying to reduce the things that are worth reacting to, and making the things we still have to do (like the belly bands) just not worth the fuss. Treats happen before (and during) belly band application right now, and happy dogs aren’t aggressive dogs. 

The “treat fairy” did her rounds last night and topped up all of the strategically-placed treat pots around the home. My self-acclaimed title gives Master a good giggle. 

“Sometimes she gives me a treat too,” he muses. I whumped him with a cushion for his crimes. 

Mum popped up yesterday for a cup of tea and a chat. She’s well – she had an appointment about her blood pressure on the Monday and that got us talking about diets, swapping breakfast smoothie recipes and her trying to sell me on chia pudding. Despite her best efforts, I remain wholly unconvinced that chia pudding is for me. 

But that brings me back to something else that I’d recently decided is not for me. 

Free-use. 

I’m not sure what the triggering moment was last night — though it might have been joking that my husband is a “dick-straction” for me — but I do remember Master throwing me face down upon my desk and pushing my legs apart with his foot. It’s degrading and he knows that, the bastard even likes that it is.

I protest that this is where I work from; that I’m the boss in this workspace. He spanks me hard and it wets me. Even my own body defies me here. 

So last night and against my will (but now very much with my consent), Master Levi fucked me over my desk. Hard. There was little love between us. 

I think he even unintentionally sodomized me at one point, which didn’t hurt nearly as much as I thought it would. It left me with even more questions than what I had answers for, though. 

I felt something last night: confusion. Uncertainty. Perhaps a mild subdrop, but not necessarily a bad one. I was indescribably horny after the fact too, and that only confused me more. 

Slave Shae was right: what kind of self-respecting woman wants this life for herself? 

So I’ve now reluctantly put “free-use, but with a caveat” on the table. My… shall we call it… “limited use” is limited to Master Levi and (potentially) Mister Valkyries only, not — and just as I called it — “half of the UK.” 

“You know he’d be down here like a shot otherwise” I say to Master, pointing in our upstairs neighbour’s direction. 

In the early hours of this morning, I did experience a double defeat in the monthly ritual of pinch punch. I noted the time and set about getting Master, who had noticed my predatory posture, checked the time for himself and prepared to launch an attack on me. I went for a first strike, but Master blocked it and managed to jab me in the diaphragm, then pinch-punched me while I was winded. I told him that his shot was “cheap” and should be disqualified. 

Valkyries, for his part, launches his attack at precisely midnight. I raise an eyebrow. 

Playing me at my own game now, Sir? Noted. 

I did think the other day as well, that for all of our tough talk, Valkyries and I still haven’t played one another at battleships. Surely my beloved admiral isn’t afraid of me handing him a crushing defeat?