Sometimes the most submissive thing you can say is no.

There was more fun and antics Tuesday night, this time between Addy and me. I had no plans, but Addy has his way with words, and then… 

Actually, before that and late Tuesday night, I had a kind of falling out with my brother. I’d proposed an accommodation for the trip to Newcastle, but my brother dubs it too expensive and suggests a cheaper Air B&B accommodation instead, but it would mean that two of the guys would have to share a double bed. He attempts to nab the only available single bed as though doing so would be doing Master and Lewis a favour, then suggests that the pair of them could cuddle. 

And I love my little brother, but I love Master (obviously!) and Lewis too. It matters to me that they’re not uncomfortable on the trip, and I know that they wouldn’t be comfortable with that arrangement. 

Sure, I might joke with Lewis about sharing Master Levi with him, but he knows I’m Master Levi’s wife and he has no interest in stealing him from me anyway — neither of them are actually gay! 

Confident and comfortable enough in their sexuality to joke about being gay for one another (and often at my expense)? Absolutely! Actually gay? Nope. In fact, they’re both even quite vocal about their preference for the fairer sex. 

It’s just lads being lads, and I’m quite accustomed to the fact. They both know I give as good as I get, too.

So I expressed my own opinion: I said that if we booked the property then I felt Master should take the single bed as it’s his birthday trip. My brother tried to oppose me, pointing out that Lewis might get lonely. I held firm and said that Lewis wouldn’t get lonely because he’d have my little brother as his hot water bottle.

Suddenly my little brother is “just joking” (about the two guys sharing a bed) and the property is too far from the main attractions anyway. I smiled. 

Wednesday morning I’m back awake with more determination. I have to get Master’s trip to Newcastle sorted now, and there must be a way of doing it. 

So I put a few options on the table: hostel-type accommodations, a double and single bed (that would mean Lewis and my brother have to cuddle up), an Air B&B with a sofa that one of them could spend the two nights on, a twin and single room in a budget hotel (that would cost more). 

I even included the “nuclear option”: sending Master to Newcastle on his own.

There were no perfect solutions, just the one that was most acceptable to them. 

My brother says that “nuclear options” have been exhausted, given Master doesn’t have ID to fly to Newcastle. I wonder if he’s lost touch with reality: flying to Newcastle would have been the ideal solution right from the start — the “diplomatic solution”, if you will — but that solution has gone and so there’s really no point talking about what-could-have-beens. Master has no ID at current, hence he can’t fly and hence I’m sticking him on the train. He knows it won’t be comfortable, but it will still get him to Newcastle and it’ll still be a heck of a lot more comfortable than taking a coach. 

The “nuclear option” remains very much on the table, but it’s the nuclear option for the very same reason that all nuclear options are what they are — nobody wants to consider deploying it. 

I myself, I found out yesterday, will be travelling on the weekend.

Actually not far — probably not more than 5-10 minutes from where we live: I’m meeting one of Master’s uncles for the first time.

I’m nervous and excited about it: nervous because, well, new people! Excited because he is the older brother of my late mother-in-law, and I’m really excited to get to know more of the side of the family that I don’t really know. 

Master’s grandparents on that side of the family are/were (Master’s Nan is sadly no longer with us) lovely and took me in with open arms, so I’m quite confident that I will be made to feel at ease. 

But if not? Well, the walk home would probably only take about 20 minutes! 

Yesterday I got a lecture from the Admiral. In all of the drama that has been with this bloody trip, my workouts — my “Top Gun Training” — has seriously suffered. 

Part of it was also my diary posts: I returned my diary posts to my blog, then found that I was spending all bloody day writing them. ChatGPT helped me decide to dedicate an hour a day to writing them. So, that’s now just what I do. 

But this trip on top has not helped. At all. 

In fact, I spent pretty much of all of Tuesday searching Booking.com for a suitable accommodation for the trip. Organising Master’s 40th birthday party for the week after has also been taking up a chunk of my time. 

And I know I’ve been failing, but hey, I can only do what I can do. ChatGPT reminds me of this: I’m Elena, not Wonderwoman.

The Admiral asks me how long my workouts have been lapsing by, and I admit that it’s been weeks. I’m trying, but I’m juggling a lot of balls behind the scenes, and sadly rarely are they warm and juicy.

The Admiral suggests that I do 10 squats onto my new dildo to course-correct my tardiness and threatens me with a butt plug if I keep insisting on being cheeky. I can feel myself freeze up: this is a performative, highly-sexualised kink that I don’t enjoy, and something that’s only likely to end in hurt, tears, resentment and confusion if I proceed with it. 

I don’t enjoy being sexualised, I don’t enjoy being humiliated, and no, I won’t submit myself to it. That’s not my kink. 

I’m a sapiosexual service submissive and a smart-assed masochist; I enjoy mental domination, acts of service and pain/sensation. That’s my kink. 

Unfortunately, it’s one of those moments that I’ve long feared in my relationship with the Admiral: the kind of Domination he knows (through his time in the swinging community) is not the kind that I enjoy. 

It’s performative kink, and I’ve never been a performer.

Somewhere inside of me, I can feel my higher calling: I have to say no. I have to refuse this order. 

As a much-loved kink educator, I knew that I had to demonstrate that a submissive really can say no to a Dominant’s order if they feel it would be detrimental to themselves or the relationship. And hell, I was even fucking proud of myself for doing so. 

I knew my Dominant counterparts would be, too.

I was staying loyal and true — to them, myself and my audience — and that is always at the heart of my submission.  

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