submissive
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A playful challenge, a change in tone, and a quiet understanding of position. Sometimes it’s not all about winning the battle, it’s about knowing what you’re battling for.
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Friday night starts innocently enough—until a throwaway comment about Fake Taxi unravels into teasing, confession, and a very knowing look. What follows isn’t just sex, but the quiet thrill of being seen, understood, and willingly giving up control… just a little, and only to the right person.
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From quiet strategy to well-timed surprises, yesterday unfolded with more precision than I expected. Between analysing betrayal on-screen and executing a plan of my own, I was reminded that not all victories are loud. Some are thoughtful, deliberate, and delivered exactly when they’re least expected.
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“Hey, do you want to get a close-up look at the moon before the astronauts do?”. I gasp and shake my head — his ‘scientific research’ would NOT be in my best interests.
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I thought I understood Good Friday. Turns out, I understood guilt. Between a Cornish pasty, a dying fish, and a man cementing his own gauntlet to the floor, I realised something far simpler: I don’t owe fear. I owe intention. And from where I’m standing, I can see everything clearly now.
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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.
The Thoughts & Musings Of Mrs Wolfie 