It might not be me who laughs last. Again.

There was sex Monday night. Unexpected sex, but still good sex. 

I was relaxing in bed and talking to Addy before sleep, then Master rolled over and cuddled me, which was unusual for a man who usually sleeps the night through. 

I checked in with him, made sure he wasn’t experiencing any distressing dreams or anything of the sort. He assured me that he’s fine and kissed me. 

Okay. Good. 

Ours was a kiss that lingered, and before I knew it, he was on top of me and inside of me and possessing me. My mind roams to Addy — who I knew was also desiring me — to our “raspberry ripple” solution; our ice cream flavour metaphor for a MFM threesome.

I’d never been the kind of girl to consider being simultaneously and sexually shared by two men before, yet here I am, and I love it. Judging by their reactions, it seems they both quite enjoy the thought, too.

Yesterday morning I had a dicky knee. Nothing major, just a slight twinge in the back of my thigh and radiating into the back of my knee. I put it down to the night before: a bit of enthusiastic locking Master Levi in my grip for even deeper penetration and his guaranteed assimilation.

A self-inflicted sex injury, if you will. 

My sweet Addy says that it needs rubbing, then suggests rubbing me off instead. I mewl. 

I’m trying to focus on my work, but Addy isn’t helping me focus. He’s making me fuck-used, more like. Completely and utterly dickstracted. 

Normally I can ignore men who try to tease me, but my Addy has a way with words.

I asked Addy why he was doing this to me, and he said that it was “turnabouts and fair play”. 

Oh, so that’s the game we’re playing, Sir? Fine. 

A little later I messaged Master’s friend, Lewis, about Master’s birthday trip. I’ve spent several days waiting for Lewis to get back to me, and he’s promised Master several times that he would message me, and then… nothing. 

So after a week of patchy communication, I mesaged him myself. I told him that “I’m your friend, not your girlfriend” and “I don’t want to have to nag”, but that I would if I had to. 

It’s funny how the mere threat of nagging tends to yield the very result you want 😉

Lewis and I have a very comfortable friendship with one another. Of all of Master’s friends, Lewis is the one that I can talk with for hours and not feel like he’s sizing me up as a threat (or as a prospective conquest. I see you, Brett). We can work together, laugh together, put the world to rights together. Our friendship just works. 

So when I threaten to nag Lewis if he doesn’t start communicating with me, he knows that I’m not just being me. I’m exasperated and trying to sort things out. I need him to work with me here. 

Lewis and I have a running joke about “sharing” Master Levi, almost as some kind of pet that we own. Lewis is a hard read: I think he’s of a more Dominant persuasion, but I’ve never been quite sure, and he’s never really said.

Costs of the trip are proving a nightmare: if it’s not the accommodation, it’s the transport. I’ve now managed to find a hostel-type accommodation which the boys are quite happy with, but The Trainline website wanted to send them to Newcastle via London, for the best part of £150 return.

And I was sure, utterly convinced even, that there must be a cheaper way than that. After all, I got from Truro to Bristol Temple Meads for £11 once! 

I found several options, including an overnight service for £60 if the boys didn’t mind occupying themselves in late night Friday night Birmingham for 6 hours. Sure, they’d have a rough night, but they could crash at the hostel for a few hours before they went and watched the football.

Lewis jokingly asked how comfortable Master would be sleeping on a park bench. 

And not being one to break the humour, I said that he was kind — Master normally sleeps on the floor when he’s with me. 

Of course that’s not actually the truth, but why ruin the joke just yet? 

Lewis said that he is a “benevolent owner”, and I said that I’m a harsh mistress, claiming that I have a reputation to upkeep. 

That’s the fun part: nobody really knows if it’s true 😉

The not so fun part: I’m still no closer to having a read on Lewis, yet, and with absolutely no thanks to Master Levi, Lewis now knows the real truth about me. 

Last night Master was out for a meal with some work friends, so I had to fend for myself. I had a hankering for katsu curry but no will to make it. Alas, I also didn’t want to spend £20 on one meal. 

So I cooked for myself anyway, then I sat down at the dinner table for my meal and…

CRACK! 

The next thing I knew, I was sat on the floor on a broken chair seat, my dinner still sitting on the table above me. 

I didn’t know how to feel at first; my brain needed a moment to recalibrate after my unexpected collision with the ground. The chair was supposed to hold me, but the chair did not hold me.

I’m at least grateful that the only thing broken is the chair, and apart from a sore bottom, I’m okay. 

Eventually my sense of humour returns and I wind up sat on the living room floor, giggling. 

I took a photo of my view of the tumbledryer and posted it on the group chat with Master Levi and Addy:

Well, I didn’t expect this view when I sat down to my dinner today 😂

Both are sympathetic as ever. Master Levi says that he booby trapped his dining chair (not actually appointed seating, just where we both seem to prefer to sit) so I couldn’t sit on it. Addy says that this is why they have to warn me when they’re going to do something, despite my insisting that my beloved strategist lacks shock and awe — I get hurt otherwise. 

Submission, apparently, is not always kinky fun and sex. Sometimes it’s getting absolutely roasted by your Dominant counterparts.

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