Ramble: Chasing Golden Geese

Hello my lovelies,

I decided to take the plunge with my good Sir and admit to him that I’d been reconsidering calling him “Daddy”. It was hard to get him to come around at first (largely because of my own grief) but he did in the end.

I explained to my good Sir that my grief is my own cross to bear. It’s not up to him to resolve it, it’s up to me. As his submissive, it’s up to me to help myself differentiate “Dad” from “Daddy” and to handle the emotions within. I could not be constantly tearing up our dynamic solely based on the way that I was feeling.

I then laid out my six pre-conditions to starting it all up again., As you can probably tell by the name of this blog post, the whole idea of living without any rules wasn’t going to happen, but hey, it was worth a try.

The rules that I have to follow are fundamentally the same as usual, and in that regard, very little has changed. I argued that it’s not normal for husbands and wives to set rules upon each other, but he countered that without them I’d be a “little shit”. I couldn’t promise otherwise!

A lot of my rules stem moreover around self-care and mental health. When my anxiety gets bad, I frequently forget to eat. Having a rule about that in effect could, in a way, help me remember to eat. So to with hydration, so to with exercise and sleep. My good Sir also hates hearing me say “c**t” or “t**t” so again, that rule stays. No self harm and no bad self-talk, I think that’s about it. I objected to keeping secrets but he stood his ground. Even if I wrote them in my journal, he argued, no secrets. Blast.

Punishments are still very much a bone of contention. I agreed to submitting to him and allowing him to protect me and care for me, I agreed to him leading and guiding me, but I objected to him punishing me. We are two adults, I argued, with rights, feelings and responsibilities. If he could punish me, I could punish him, too.


“I don’t know. By not making your lunch, or making you a really bland, tasteless one?”

I knew how much my Baguette-Me-Not meant to him and he knew that I’d worked in business negotiations and I was a tough nut to crack. We could agree boundaries and rules, but punishments were objectionable.

He glowered at me, sighed deeply and agreed,

“Point made.”

I smirked. You enjoy the challenge, really.

In the end, we researched some punishments and agreed and disagreed on what was acceptable for us. Writing a letter was fine, but only on the computer because of my chronic pain. Delayed orgasm was another, but denial was absolutely not. Biting, fine, sitting on the floor, okay, spanking as a punishment was too close to him with my past, as was time out. So we had at least some form of agreement., but was still loathed to the idea of being punished because at least in my opinion, I’ve never done anything that wrong.

Next, I’d objected to “Daddy” happening outside the bedroom. For me, this absolutely was an in the bedroom thing, it was a sex thing, and outside the bedroom he’d just be Wolfie to me. One of the hardest parts for me before was the sense that I was somehow younger than him, which I am, but much younger, which I’m not. Also, “Daddy” would only happen during sex, not BDSM. One of those nuanced things for me. For whatever reason, “Daddy” whilst in subspace really did make me think of my biological paternal parent.

Third, no infantalizing me. Again, he agreed to that. We could have DDLG, but there would be absolutely no age play. No kiddish talk, no cute things, no things meant for kids, nada. I was his gothic rock vampire bat kitten, I like black, bats and shiny chains, not cute things.

Finally, the pigtails issue. The pigtails issue did not end in the way I wanted it to, but then, I sort of knew that would happen. Dancing in the kitchen was fine, and running around in a hoodie and no bottoms was apparently even considered kind of cute. But if I pigtail and pout and he catches me alone in the bedroom, I have been told, then it’s fair game.

So what is he now called?

My husband goes by many names. On my blog, and for whatever reason, I seem to repeatedly call him “my good Sir”, I guess that’s because of what he is to me! I also still occasionally (though not so often) call him Tall Person, and occasionally Daddy Wolfie. To me, he will occasionally be Daddy, to most people, he’s just Wolfie. it goes back to his screen name based on his favourite Mortal Kombat character, Nightwolf. I created “Wolfie” from there, which he now widely uses online.

He also knows that if he hears “Wolfie…” then I either want something, or I’ve done something 😉

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