Annoyingly my Bank Holiday Monday wasn’t the relaxing break that I’d hoped for. I spent much of it at my desk, writing about the past week instead. Hardly the day off most people had. 

Actually, prior to that I had my grocery shop delivered. Now, I know I probably shouldn’t have my favourite drivers, but I have two: both men, one probably in his early fifties, and one probably approaching seventy. They have very different personalities — one I thought is ex-military (he isn’t); the other is avuncular and warm. 

Yesterday I got the avuncular one, who always cares about my wellness. Despite his age he holds the crate up for me so I don’t have to bend down. 

“Here, I’ll show you a trick,” he says. He takes my shopping bag and hooks one handle over two notches in the side of the crate, handing me the other.

“Now you only need to use one hand to hold it,” he says. He grins at my awe. 

 While I bag up my shopping, we talk about management and people. About how happiness spreads, and how loving ourselves helps us to spread love in this world. 

“At the end of the day, the way I think of it is this: they have to go home to themselves, and you have to go home to yourself,” he explains. “So if you can live with you…”. 

“I know I couldn’t, I can be a right pain in the ass sometimes,” I say. We both laugh.

Before he leaves he wishes me a happy day off, citing that it’s not a day off for him. 

“It’s not a day off for me either,” I reply. “I told you, I’m a right task master!”. He laughs again and waves me farewell. 

Master is off for the day, so he helps me put away the shopping. We make light work of it between the pair of us. 

Despite our food shop, we ordered in our lunches — neither of us fancied more of the same. 

Last night I installed Battle Fleet, a mobile battleship game: I figured that with the drums of war banging ever louder, it was only right to practice. Before commanding my fleet in a fierce battle, I first had to test my strategy. 

Currently, I stand at a 3:3 victory. 

I’m confident in my battle plan, but we will keep wargaming —  we will keep “putting warheads on foreheads” as the Admiral called it. 

Of course, conquering the high seas is only a small part of a much wider strategy. The Admiral threatened to shoot me with a Nerf gun once, so weapons training and target practice will be required.  He plans to keep me sexually satisfied but utterly spent, so I will have to work on faster recoveries so that my beloved Admiral can’t exhaust me. He (jokingly) threatened to hide my pill so he can breed me successfully, so I will have to get tactical about where I keep it in future.

It’s all in good fun (and love), but peace isn’t won by rolling on your back and surrendering. Oh sure I’ll come, but so will he. Mutually Assured Destruction, NSFW edition.

I did give him a little white flag that he can wave as well, should the Admiral feel he needs it. See? I’m nice!

This morning I woke up to a message from Valkyries, wondering if he should use “Snookiebear” on the game. It’s a nickname I afforded him almost a year ago. 

Oh shit, he hasn’t forgotten about that name then. 

This morning is also dog walking with Mum, though Valkyries insists that I cum before I leave the flat. He talks too about remote controlled toys, and the delight he’d have in tormenting me on a dog walk. I smile to myself: joke’s on you, Sir. You assume it’d work. 

Mum offers to collect me at 10:45AM, though I push her back to 11AM. 

It’s a nice round number, I say. 

Plus I’m completely and utterly spent.

She then offers to collect me at 10:15AM, citing that she’s finished her breakfast. I tell her that we’re still eating ours. 

Well, at least we will be in a minute. 

I rest for ten minutes, then it’s a mission to get some chow in the dog and myself, along with a few sips of tea for me. I pull my hair up in a bun and smile to myself: it even feels “Cadet Ruckford”-ish. 

To clarify, Cadet Ruckford is a feisty fictional character from a military-romance story idea that Valkyries and I had several months ago. Alas, we held off on writing it given the way between-ranks romances are seen in the forces. 

Perhaps it was for the best. Perhaps we have something even better now?

I also feel it ties in with this from the private journal entry that I shared with Master Levi the other day:

“First of all, there’s a song, Loyal, Brave, True by Christina Aguilera. It’s from Mulan, but I equate it a lot to my submission, because the sentiment in it is kind of how I see submission. Anyone can perform submission, but is it true? 

Also, you don’t have to be weak to be submissive, and I think that ties in with a lot of my other feelings about submission. True submission is not about being weak; it’s about being humble. True Dominance is not about being powerful; it’s about being in control.  If you have to demonstrate your control in order to have it, you probably don’t have it at all. 

The other thing is, especially since Valkyries, I kind of think of my submission like something military: something Top Gun-ish with my Dominants as my ‘Commanders’ – I kind of love it that way. The really ironic thing is people often talk about training a submissive to be submissive, and I often reject it, because I’m not. Yet, by recognising that being loyal, brave and true in my submission to my Commanders is being a ‘true’ submissive, then I realise that perhaps I’ve been ‘trained’ all along.“

Back in the real world, Mum arrives at 10:45AM sharp. I roll my eyes. Don’t change, Mum. 

We didn’t go to the woods, well not exactly, we went to the other end — the estate end. It’s special and romantic: Master and I got married there. 

There’s a flicker of frustration in me as we walk up the footpath: Master said on Sunday that he wouldn’t be comfortable with me taking Valkyries there. I understand it and not — he doesn’t want anyone else making memories with me where we’ve made memories. I wave off the thought.

“If we went there, it would be to show off where we got married, not to make new, better memories. Anyone who doesn’t respect that would have me to deal with,” I say. Master smiles. 

“Besides, you can’t make better memories than that,” I add. I can feel the tears prickle my eyes and Master squeezes me to him.

So it’s not a frustration that I can’t make memories with Valkyries there; it’s that I can’t share with him what I see, frankly, as the most amazing place in the world. And I really, really want to, because we’re special to him, and so by proxy, it’d be special to him too. 

Plus it’s beautiful there. That’s the other part. 

I stand in the car parking area and approach the circular porch. Mentally, the white S-Class Mercedes is next to me, and my bridal party is in front of me. 

“I can’t believe it’s been nearly thirteen years,” I say softly. 

“Regret it?” Mum asks. 

“Hell no,” I reply.