bdsm
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I felt something last night: confusion. Uncertainty. Perhaps a mild subdrop, but not necessarily a bad one. Slave Shae was right: what kind of self-respecting woman wants this life for herself?
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There’s a pre-meet conversation, though, that hangs over the pair of us right now: what to tell them, and how much?
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I have power here, but I know the limits of just how much power I have. They let me lead, but they don’t let me rule.
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Valkyries did remind me or Father has a sense of humour, and he is right, but that doesn’t mean I can mentally stick him in a kilt and be done.
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I know we submissives aren’t supposed to want control, since that’s just not what being a submissive is.
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All this time spent wearing smart black trousers. Turns out, maybe I was wearing the wrong trousers!
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After days of malfunction, I’m finally coming back online—body, mind, and routine. A pulled muscle and a long-overdue hydration fix have me rebuilding from the inside out. It’s not perfect yet, but the systems are humming again, and I can feel control steadily returning where it belongs.
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In the event that the Queen is medically incapacitated, The Queen’s Mandate shall come into effect.
The Thoughts & Musings Of Mrs Wolfie 