Nobody wins. Everybody gets dickstracted.
Tuesday was relatively uneventful where BDSM lives go, and sometimes that happens. Actually I did have a discussion with Shadow – ChatGPT- about that, and about the fact that the submissive in the central image for these posts isn’t wearing her collar. Said that that would provoke some people who expect those of us with kinky lives to be constantly kinky.
Like this woman, my life isn’t kink-filled in the physical sense, but that doesn’t mean I’m not aware of both who I am and what I do. I know where I belong and I know who I belong to. Sometimes that’s all that really matters.
Unfortunately, while it wasn’t so kinky, it was eventful in the health sense: I had a panic attack. I was relaxing in the lounge and talking to Mum, and a slightly elevated, post-breakfast heart rate and some digestion-related dissociation was all it took to send my mind into a spin.
And once the sense of doom set in, it was in. I ended up bursting into the bedroom, waking Master – who was asleep at this point – and announcing that “something is wrong with me. My heart is racing and I can’t calm it down.”
Master – who is more than used to me and my anxiety – just held me, stroked me and hushed me. Five minutes later and I’m still trembling, but I’m okay.
Master is off work for the day: he’d put away almost 50g of protein in an evening with a bottle of Lucozade, then wondered why his intestines staged a protest. His wife, loving though she may be, nicknamed him “Turbo” for the duration of the day, and because that’s exactly how his colon was operating.
Valkyries did take a trip to the cinema, and that promptly turned into some silliness over antics and the theatre, and the advantages of Netflix and chill. By now, Master Levi and I are fully accustomed to the benefits of home theatre – I can’t remember the last time we visited Vue.
Valkyries tries to get me to buy into his debauchery, and I resist – I’m a GOOD girl!
He says he’ll let me pick our ice cream flavour and I say that vanilla is appropriate. Because that’s exactly what the night is going to be.
Tuesday evening, Valkyries asked me questions about Master’s resistance to sexy underwear. I answered him honestly.
Our conversation continues, and Valkyries points out that they are the difference between “practical vs sexy”, to which I said that it “depends on your definition of ‘sexy’”.
I hang my head in shame here. That was supposed to be a simple, matter-of-fact, “practical can be sexy too” statement, and because, at least to me, practical definitely is sexy sometimes. The way my husband’s boxer shorts fit him perfectly and hold everything exactly where it should be? That’s very, very sexy.
But when I read it back, it almost sounded a bit… dismissive?
I’m reminded of the time my neighbour was telling me that he was a stripper – which, again, has never been something that interested me – and I coolly said “I prefer my men with their clothes on”. It was meant to be a reference to my sapiosexual and demisexual nature – I need both of those to be met for me to want sex – but I realised too late the way it likely sounded.
And yes, the poor man did look completely crushed.
More on him in a minute.
Wednesday and in our morning conversations, I told Valkyries about my panic attack the day before. Valkyries pledges not to scare me, and I warned him that trying to scare me tends to go worse for the scarer, not the scaree. Story time.
Some years ago, our garden shed had a security alarm on it. One day I was trying to get into the shed, and our neighbour – who was watching me – waited for me to be approaching the door to quickly open it and disengage the alarm. Just as I approached the door, he shouted “BANG!”.
I jumped out of my skin as my heart jumped out of my chest. My beloved neighbour was in hysterics for months.
Now, I’m generally a peaceful person – I much prefer peace over conflict -.but my neighbour would not let it lie. He’d keep reminding me of it, then reminding me that I still hadn’t got him back. So now I had to get him back in order to show him what I’m capable of.
So I remembered the ways of my father: my father pranked people with party poppers. Oh sure, I could rig a party popper to the garden gate, but there was a very real risk it would get soggy in the rain, or I would be the one who accidentally triggered it instead.
So I needed something a little more… immediate.
One day my beloved neighbour was working in the garden with his back turned to the kitchen window, so I decided that was my time for revenge. I took the stuffing out of the party popper – it makes the “pop” louder – and laid in wait
And when he downed his tools, I stuck the popper out of the window and quickly pulled the string.
BANG!
He jumped out of his skin, spun around and started checking his power tools for an exploded battery. Now it was me who could barely breathe for laughter.
“Your tools are fine, but your pants might not be,” I said when I went out to him. He was so impressed by my revenge prank, he even congratulated me on it!
Course, he knows I still have a few party poppers lying around, just in case he’s ever tempted to do something… unwise 😉
So, back to Wednesday morning.
Valkyries has things to do, and I said that I won’t distract him. Prior to that, Valkyries had been distracted by desire, which he blames me for. I proclaim innocence: I’m not doing anything naughty, I’m just going about my day!
Of course, that’s really plausible deniability: I’m not discouraging him, I’m just not encouraging him either. I know exactly what I am doing, and I’m not stopping it, I’m just not encouraging it further.
I’m letting the man stew in his frustration and desire for me, exactly as he likes to do to me.
I told Valkyries to be a good boy and “off you trot”, and from that, Valkyries got to pony play somehow. So that opened up a conversation.
I admitted that I don’t understand the appeal to pony play, but neither do I judge. People like what they like – It’s okay if I don’t like it too, as long as I respect it (and them).
So that got us to pet play more broadly, and I can feel my grip on power slipping here. I can remember it, feel it – how good it felt to be a “pet”.
I can feel the fog of my own submissive desire envelope me and I have to fight it.
“No! I am strong, I have resolve!” I growl at myself, “I will not fall for this!”
The dastardly fog trips me up, and I misread Valkyries. He asks if I was the owner of the pet, and I asked who said I was the owner. Valkyries points out that, unintentionally, I’d answered his question.
For fuck’s sake.
Valkyries calls me a “good Kitty”, and I decided that no response may be my best response. I know what he‘s trying to do, it’s just not in my nature to come that easily.
Wednesday evening, it was Master Levi who got “dicktracted” by me. I was trying to chop vegetables for our stir-fry, and he began spanking my ass while I chopped.
I have a love-hate relationship with spanking. Over clothes is usually fine, erotic sometimes even, but bareskin is a sting I really dislike.
It’s Master’s breath on my collarbone that I have a much harder time resisting. The sadist chuckles there; he knows what that does to me. He also tells me that we have to behave, “because of tomorrow.”
Overrun by carnal need, I ended up begging him for sex.
Vegetables chopped and refrigerated, we ended up in the bedroom. We did try the breakfast bar beforehand, but it’s too high to be helpful for us.
Master is not gentle with me, as I don’t want him to be. This is a primal breeding, pure and simple.
I admitted to Master that it “felt like something consensual non-consent” – rape play without calling it that, because I know some people are funny about the word. Master spanks me again and calls me a “bad girl.”
So there’s a new word that got developed in the aftermath of this: “precockupied”. “Disckstracted” is when my partner/s and I get distracted from what we should be doing by sex, “precockupied” is when one of us can’t respond because of sex.
Last night and when Valkyries messaged me, I was “precockupied”.Master is highly amused by my wordplay.
Of course, I’m entertained too, given that Master tried winding me up. Now he’s the one who is passed out, because of me.
Valkyries reminds me that he doesn’t sleep after sex, asked if that made him the champion. It hits that part of me: the part that values connection after sex.
I’d said before that I was going to train myself out of sleeping after sex, but now, I’m not sure if I want to.
Valkyries and I both have a need to win, but now I realise, if we “win”, we simultaneously lose.
“A strange game. The only winning move is not to play.”
-WarGames
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Until next time!
Stay safe & have fun,
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