Friday, December 12, 2014

Over His Lap

We began spanking “for fun” long before Jason ever punished me. At the time, I obeyed him even without the threat of punishment, (not at the level I'm expected to now, however) because it was an understanding in our relationship that he was in charge. It was like that from the beginning, a natural fit for us. He led and I followed. So going over his lap was something we both enjoyed because we found it incredibly erotic. A spanking would always be over his lap. He would always use his hand. It wasn't until the day he first punished me than he ever used anything but his hand to spank me. 

Over time, we incorporated more implements into our dynamic. He preferred using implements he found more effective for punishment, so his belt came into use, as well as the hairbrush and a paddle. I preferred other things because – well, I'm a spanko. But still, to this day, if I had my choice I'd choose his hand every single time. It's more intimate. He can give me a hand spanking that takes my breath away that I still feel the next day. But I'm very, very rarely punished with his hand. 

How do we differentiate between a “real” spanking and a sexy one? It's all in the premise. It's all in the motive. I know if he's feeling amorous and he pulls me over his lap, he's doing so because he knows there's nothing that lights me up more than a thorough spanking. If he gives me “the look” and pulls out an implement, chances are I'm in trouble and he always makes sure I know why. Sometimes, he just wants me in my place, which is why every day before he leaves, he pulls me over his knee for at least a few swats – more if I've gotten close to the edge, or I'm struggling and need a reminder of who's in charge. 

But in the beginning, when he punished me, he would put me over the bed. I found his lap reassuring – and he knew this – so to reinforce the punishment aspect, I would never go over his lap. I found this difficult. I disliked being punished, and found the distance when he put me on the bed somehow felt like rejection. So after a while, I went to him. 

“May I ask you a question?” I asked. He nodded and I scooted over to him. I explained how I felt, that I hated being punished, and I would find punishment easier to take if he put me over his lap. He grew stern and explained that the point of punishment wasn't to make me feel good. I understood this, but told him I'd trust him, and that I felt punishment would still be effective. I just wanted to tell him how I felt so he could act accordingly. He nodded, mulling things over, and I didn't bring it up again. I decided I'd submit to whatever he asked. 

But the next time I got in trouble, he ordered me over his lap. It was effective and has the decided benefit of me not being able to fight or get away (gulp).

It is now only times of very, very serious punishment, which is extremely rare, that he puts me over the bed. I actually don't remember the last time I was punished over the bed. Going over his lap is the norm. 

It's hard to explain how I feel when I'm over his lap. It's the most submissive position possible. There's only one position equally submissive and at the risk of sounding crass, I'll simply state it involves being on my knees. I'm not trying to be funny or rude; I truly believe the act of pleasing him in that way is as submissive an act as going over his lap for a spanking. I'll also simply state that our daily check-in that puts me in my place usually involves more than one act of submission. But both positions, both acts, reinforce our roles. 

Every morning, he goes over his expectations with me, by going over my checklist and reinforcing rules. Occasionally, he does this while I'm over his lap, completely bared and vulnerable. 

He loves having me over his lap. He finds it sexy, and it's not uncommon for him to make that clear. I love being there. It's like a trigger for me; the moment my belly hits his knee, any frustration or worry I have flees (unless, of course, I'm about to punished.)  I lay my head on the bed and cross my arms under me. And we'll talk, his hand on my bottom, me vulnerable and submitted, him in his place as my Dominant and I in my place as his Submissive. Sometimes we'll do this before bed after a long day. We always do this before a long day begins. 

I find it deeply erotic, the mere act of lying over his lap. 

It's been a long week this week. I'm cranky and hormonal. I miss my dad. I have so much to do. I was feeling needy last night, wanting stress relief and a chance to reconnect. I hadn't really gotten spanked more than a few swats all week, and I knew I needed more. I have high needs, and though I'll submit and obey to less spanking, I much prefer more when I'm needy, and he wants me to communicate those needs. 

I was tired, and as I crawled into bed, I told him how I felt. I don't always have to tell him how I feel. Often, he knows, and he orders me over his lap for stress relief without me mentioning it. But sometimes the feelings I have – that desire to be submitted to him, to be put in my place, to feel his strength and reassurance – sometimes it doesn't really surface until we're alone, and it's quiet. I just felt...edgy. Unsettled. I told him. 

“Is that right?” he asked. 

“Yes,” I said, pulling the covers back up. He left to get ready for bed without another word, and I started feeling that maybe I could've been more polite in how I approached him. Then, remembering that spanking hurts, I started wondering if maybe all I really needed was a good night's sleep and maybe it would've been wiser to keep my mouth closed. But...too late. He came back in the room.

“Come here,” he said. I sat up, prepared to obey whatever he asked. “Come and lie over my lap.” 

He wasn't angry, or upset, or even stern. He was ready to meet my needs.

He took out the brush. I balked recently when he took out the brush for stress relief. 

“Oooh,” I said, almost involuntarily, “Oh gosh, that really really hurts.” 

“Relax, baby,” he said. “I'm not going to spank you as hard as I do when I punish you. Now over my lap.” 

Over my lap. 

I felt that familiar twisting in me, that deep, dark arousal that sends tingles to my fingertips at his words when I punish you. There's something about him saying that...the sternness, that hearkens back to times I've been soundly punished. It reminds me of how strict he can be, fulfilling his role as my Dominant, bringing my deepest fantasies to fruition. 

I swallowed, placing myself in that place of vulnerability and trust. I think that's why the simple act of placing myself over his knee brings me comfort. I need to trust. I put myself in his hands. 

“Relax, baby,” he said. And he began. Slowly at first. I yelped into the covers. Even when he's letting the brush just drop, it stings like crazy. It's dense and polished, and he can very easily adjust the severity of a spanking with how hard he swings it. I can feel a spanking with the brush for days. It's also one of our most quiet implements, so in many ways it's ideal. Except that...well, it hurts. Oh lawdie, does that thing hurt.

He warmed me up, talking to me, a few small swats, followed by more and more, building up to a sound, though not harsh, spanking. He told me to relax. He paused between swats, his hand on me, massaging softly, and telling me things like It's okay now and relax baby, and I love you.

A cloudy haze began to come over me. My initial fear of a spanking with the brush began to dissipate as he did, indeed, spank less severely than he does for punishment. He pushed me past what I thought I could take, but I was in the place of letting it all go. I was ready to say “I've had enough,” but his response every time is “I'm the one who says you've had enough,” so I took it silently.

I was vaguely aware of him putting the brush down. My mind cleared, my body as limp as a rag doll, at his mercy. He began using his hand, sharp, stinging swats, alternating with soft caresses. Deep, contented sigh. He spanked me until I completely relaxed.


Thoroughly spanked.

All the tension gone. 

Absolute surrender.

Over his lap. 

Wednesday, December 10, 2014

Internet Safety (updated)

(This post has been updated at the bottom of the page.)

Recently, on several blog posts, I mentioned in passing that I'm not allowed to read other people's blogs or post comments. When quite a few people, in both comments and e-mails, asked why this is the case, Jason and I both explained that it was an issue of safety. I posted a detailed response in the comment section to one post, and Jason posted his explanation in his post HERE (be warned -- with all due respect to my husband, it's a bit more crass than what I usually post and may offend some conservative readers). 

Jason and I were both a bit surprised that people didn't know online activity can be tracked. We talked it over and thought it would be best to post a thread on internet safety.

Before I begin, I'm aware of the fact that this thread will likely cause people to be reticent in commenting, so I'd like to address my fellow bloggers. I jokingly commented that I could sub-title this post "In which, JGirl never gets another comment again." My dear fellow bloggers -- please understand that I'm not trying to be an alarmist. There are many, many people in the community who are very trusting, and it concerns me. I apologize if my concern causes a lack of dialogue in comments and the like. Comments are fun to get. It is, after all, somewhat disheartening to spend hours writing and get no feedback. It feels like you're talking to yourself. You're not. Keep on blogging. There's a need for others in the community, who are attracted to this alternative lifestyle, to feel understood. The lack of comments doesn't indicate a lack of interest in your blog. For what it's worth, I get maybe one percent feedback -- for every five hundred hits I get to a post, I will likely get less than five comments. So please, don't be discouraged from blogging. If your post helps even one person, it's worth it. 

This all came about because I had some unpleasant experiences here on my blog. I had one person in particular who repeatedly attacked me and Jason. Over, and over again, they attacked and when other readers came to my side, they attacked my readers. At first I set up my blog to moderate comments and would simply delete the nasty ones. But this all began at a time when I was robbed (someone broke into my car), and I was pretty freaked out. I wanted to stop this person from reading my blog. So Jason and I did some research. 

Blogger itself does not allow tracking of IP addresses. Blogger has a limited stat counter. With some behind-the-scenes digging (under the "design" feature at the top of the owner's page), I can easily see where hits are coming from, how many hits in a day, how many comments I get, if people are re-posting or linking to a post, etc. But I can only see if people who have Blogger I.D.'s are posting. That's about as far as Blogger goes. Clearly, people who have malicious intent are going to post anonymously. There is no way through Blogger to track anonymous comments, other than to maybe see how they got to your blog. 

So we looked into other methods. There are many. Statcounter is the one I went with. It's free, it's easy, and literally minutes after hooking my blog up to statcounter, I had detailed information as to who viewed my blog, what they read, where they lived, their IP address, how long they visited, how often, etc. I set this up for the sole purpose of tracking the person attacking us, and I was successful. It was very easy to match the time of the comments to an IP address. I banned that IP address and that was that. 

While I was tracking, I found the stats very interesting and would take an occasional peek through to see which countries readers came from. But out of respect to the privacy of my readers, I stopped looking at any tracking information after I was able to block the attacker. However, for my own safety reasons, I still have my blog linked to statcounter, in case anything like this happens again. 

This wasn't all that happened, however. Other issues came up as well. I do not want to cause suspicion to fall on any one person; nor do I want to violate any confidentiailty. So I will speak in very general terms. These are some of the things that have happened that I, and likely many of you, though not all, have become aware of. 

Men in the community posing as women, garnering private information, establishing trust, and violating that trust. One person posing as a "couple," also establishing trust and getting money from people with sales of books, affiliate links, and network fees. Several people creating false identities, forming friendships, only to violate those friendships. There have been cases when some of these people actually raised money for a "cause." Who knows what they did with that money raised. Men posing as Doms, even establishing relationships with submissives, only to rob them of their money and leave them penniless and heartbroken. Men posing as women who are prominent members of the blogging community. 

Why do people do this? Maybe they get a rise out of it. Some do it under the guise of "research." Some are just creepers. But some have much more dangerous motives. So please, be careful. And from your own persective, try not to get offended if people don't want to share their personal information. It is wise not to be trusting.

My blog has been linked to porn sites. I've received offensive, vulgar e-mails, have been propositioned, and even received financial offers from porn sites who want to link to my blog and give me an affiliate link. No, thank you. 

This is all to say...please, proceed with caution. This is why Jason doesn't allow me to read or comment on blogs. This is why my access to the DD community is severely limited. 

Jason and I are a very real couple. But we're a couple just like you. I am a submissive, and he is my dominant. I am also a writer, so sharing our experiences comes fairly naturally to me. That is why we blog, to give a real-life glimpse into a d/s dynamic. But we have a family, and we need to protect our family's safety. Although we have a very small number of real life friends and family who know about our lifestyle, we mostly keep it private. Friends and family do not know I blog. It really is a shame we have to be so secretive, but it is what it is. 

My personal belief is that most people are good. But you really never know who isn't. It is also my personal belief that the truth always outs in time. So please, readers. Be safe. There is no need to rush into trusting someone. Take your time, and be cautious.

Someone asked how to post on blogs without being able to be tracked. I'm not sure about that, but I can tell you that it is more difficult to track mobile devices than personal computers and email is a safer way of communicating. 

Please, feel free to share this post. It is admirable to be a trusting person, but this is one area where I would caution you to be very careful. If anyone has any further information for readers, please comment in the section below or send me an email at

Be safe, people. 

Jason and Jason's Girl

It's come to my attention that some readers took the main point of this post to be that it's never safe to post on any blogs, anonymously or not. That wasn't my point at all. My point is that the internet is not a safe place, and in the interest of being safe, please use discretion when posting. Some people are absolutely trustworthy. I've made some really amazing friends in the community. I'm not suggesting not to trust anyone -- I'm merely suggesting we use caution online, as sometimes things aren't as safe as they may seem. Once we know what the possible dangers are, we can act accordingly. 

To answer some questions that were raised: 
Incognito browers do not prevent your IP address and location from being shown to websites you visit; they merely prevent your visits being recorded in your history. 

Clearing your history only removes a "cookie" on your computer. This does nothing to hide your online activity from websites you visited. 

Proxy servers and other anonymous browsing options are available, which block websites from viewing your location; please read comments below for more details. 

Monday, December 8, 2014

Desires Fulfilled (fiction)

Here is the third and final installment of a short story trilogy. The trilogy of stories is the back story to Anthony and Sonya's d/s relationship. The first story in the trilogy, "Deepest Desires" is HERE , the second, "Desires Revealed," is HERE, and a separate story, "In this Together," is HERE


Desires Fulfilled

The next morning, Sonya woke before Anthony. She had to get up early for work, and she wanted some time to think things over. The night before, when he'd spanked her, had been so confusing. The whole day had been confusing, overhearing Braxton talk to his wife and tell her he was going to spank her, the night spent in solitude cruising the internet and opening her eyes to a whole new world, then Anthony coming home and taking her over his knee.

She didn't know what to do with all her thoughts. She wished she had someone to talk to, to process, to help sort through her feelings.

Is this normal? Why am I disappointed the spanking he gave me was only sexy, and not for real? Why do I want a real spanking?

In her mind, she thought she should've wanted to smack Braxton. Who did he think he was, punishing his wife with a spanking? That wasn't right. It was the twenty-first century for crying out loud. And yet...part of her was jealous.

She was sitting at the table in her kitchen, sipping a cup of coffee, mulling it all over when Anthony came downstairs.

“Morning,” he mumbled huskily. He walked over to the cabinet and took out a mug.

“Morning,” she responded. She was suddenly shy. She shifted in her seat, her bottom still tender from where he'd spanked her. He looked...stronger. More stern. She swallowed hard. Sexier.

She closed her eyes, willing herself to stop the ridiculous rabbit trails of thoughts and emotions. When she opened them, he was sitting across from her, grinning mischievously.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothin',” he said, taking another sip of coffee, while his eyes watched her. “Just..made you about come out of your skin last night,” he said with a chuckle. She shifted in her seat again.

“Yeah, um, about that...” she began, but he continued.

“Gotta do that again sometime,” he said with another chuckle. “That was nothing like our hanky spanky games we've played before.”

She sighed. “Yeah. Guess not,” she said. He frowned.

“What's up?” he said. “Looked to me like you enjoyed the hell out of that, and you're getting all weird now.”

She shrugged. “I did enjoy it,” she said. “I mean, I guess I did.” She looked down at her hands.

He leaned across the table.

“Babe. Spill.”

She looked up at him, feeling her nerves on edge, not exactly sure how to spill.

“Anthony, people do this for real,” she said. He sat up.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Swallowing hard, she continued. “Real spanking. Not just foreplay. Not just games. Husbands...” she paused. Saying it out loud somehow made it seem wrong, or weird, she didn't know which, but it was harder saying it out loud than thinking it. “Well. Some people have these relationships where's...well, it's called domestic discipline.”

He raised his eyebrows and took another sip of coffee.

“No sex?”

She shrugged. “Well, I guess some of them have sex, I don't know. I mean, I guess they would. But it sounds...interesting,” she finished, realizing it sounded totally lame. She took another sip of coffee. Her embarrassment made her feel almost angry. He'd said he'd read her history.

“Well, what did you see in my history, anyway?” she asked, realizing her voice took on a certain defensive edge.

A slow smile spread over his face as he took another sip of coffee. “I didn't have to see much,” he said. “Some pictures of girls lying over guy's laps, and I saw enough.” He waggled his eyebrows at her, but his teasing made her angry.

She stood. “It isn't like that,” she said. “These are real people. They really take this seriously. It's not a joke.”

He was laughing now, and shaking his head. “Sure they're real people,” he said. “Oh God, babe, you're so naive. They just make you think they're real while they rake in the dough.”

She shook her head, marched to the living room and picked up her bag, flung her coat over her arm and made her way to the door.

“I know what I saw,” she said. “And it's not all like that.”

She reached for the door knob to leave, but his voice stopped her.

“Hey.” She turned to him. His eyes were twinkling. They narrowed, as he wagged a finger in her direction. “You be home on time tonight, young lady, or else.”

With an exasperated groan, she yanked the door open and stormed out, the sound of his laughter following her out of the house, as she fought back the sudden, frustrating desire to want to cry.


They didn't speak of things for a few more days. When she came home that night, he apologized for angering her, explaining to her that he really didn't mean to upset her. She'd just patched things over, not willing to get into it with him again. She didn't want to talk about it. Part of her wanted to bury her thoughts about all of this forever.

But part of her couldn't. She found herself reading more and more online, in her spare time, each time she did, clearing her history completely. She wouldn't make that mistake again.

She found herself consumed with thoughts of this lifestyle choice she'd known nothing about just a week prior. She read about all sorts of couples, all sorts of different ways they did things. She found some websites fascinating, and she read for hours. Others were a total turn-off. She began to feel guilty. Her fantasies began to take on a whole new flavor, and the few times she condescended to make love to Anthony, her mind, every single time, would go back to that night he spanked her. Only this time, he was angrier. Sterner. He spanked her harder.

And he was serious.

But she didn't want to discuss it with him again. He understood that she didn't want to be teased about it, so he stopped teasing her. Until the night of the party.


Sonya and Anthony were supposed to go to Braxton and Mariah's for a tree-trimming party. Sonya was conflicted about going. She'd avoided Braxton as much as she could, not able to completely eradicate the overheard conversation she'd had from her mind, and she'd mostly managed to be successful. But she felt seeing Mariah would be awkward. How could she? If only she had the courage to talk to her, to tell her what she overheard. Part of her longed to have someone else, a friend, to talk to about all of this. But she knew she couldn't. No, not now, maybe not ever. She could hardly handle Anthony's scorn and laughter about all of it. She couldn't bear the thought of harming her friendship with Mariah.

“What time do we have to go?” Anthony said.

“Well, we're supposed to be there in half an hour,” she stated. “So I wanted to leave in ten minutes.” She ran a brush through her hair as he sat down in his overstuffed chair.

“Sonya, the party goes all night,” he said. “And I wanted to finish this show up before we go. We'll leave when the show is done.”

She frowned. “I don't want to leave then,” she said. “Why can't you watch it when we come home? It's recorded, and I want to go.”

He scowled at her. “Because I want to watch it now,” he insisted. She felt anger rise. He could be so stubborn. “People will be coming and going all night. For crying out loud, relax.”

She stomped out of the room, her temper flaring. He was so bossy. Why had he even asked her when she wanted to go when he had no intention of going then? She finished putting her make-up on in a huff, then stomped back out to where he was.

“Anthony. I want to go now,” she said. “Not when you finish your stupid show.” She stood in front of the t.v., her arms across her chest, glaring at him.

“Get out of the damn way, Sonya,” he ordered. She shook her head.

“No. You asked me when I wanted to go. I told you. Now let's go.” 

“You don't tell me what to do,” he said. “Now move.”

She glared at him, then stomped off to the other room, threw herself into a chair and waited. Part of her knew she was acting like a petulant child, but she also felt completely justified. Why did she have to go when he wanted to go? She wanted a good parking space. She'd told Mariah she'd help her set up and get the food ready. Now they were going to be late, and it was all Anthony's fault.

A short while later, he came out to the kitchen where she was waiting and fuming.

“Let's go,” he muttered. “You can be such a brat.”

She stomped off to the car, slamming the door to her seat, as he followed her out. He sat in the driver's seat, not talking to her. They drove in silence to the party, but as they drove, her anger began to dissipate. She didn't want to fight with him all night over this. She began to feel guilty, realizing she really had been a brat over this whole thing. By the time they got to Mariah and Braxton's, she felt awful.

“Anthony,” she began, but he completely ignored her. He stood and slammed the car door. She tried again, as he approached the house.

“Anthony, please,” she said, trying to stop him. He turned to her.

“I don't want to talk right now,” he said. “Let's get this stupid party over. I hate fighting with you like that. You were a brat and I don't want to talk to you."

She fell into silence next to him, as the door opened and Mariah's shining face welcomed them. She took their coats, and ushered them in. Anthony immediately left her side, walking over to his friends and getting himself a drink. She felt sick to her stomach, the argument they'd had eating her up. She wanted to reconcile. She wanted to put it behind them. Her mind began playing through what could've happened.

What would've happened if in the middle of her tantrum, he'd stopped her? What about instead of silently fuming, he'd taken her over his knee right then, and spanked her soundly? She probably would've fought. And all the feelings of this is so hot were at bay, as she thought about how he would've let go of his anger. She'd have asked for forgiveness. And they maybe would've moved on.

She'd read so many stories, so many blogs, so many couples explaining how that worked for them. There was no silent treatment. No arguments that lasted for hours, or days. And as she thought this over, sitting alone in a quiet corner of a room, she saw Braxton come up to Mariah. Mariah grinned at him, as he playfully, but forcefully, pushed her against a wall and kissed her and when he finally released her, Mariah's eyes were only on him, and she was breathless. Sonya's heart twisted. She wanted that. She wanted to be wanted like that.

She went to find Anthony. He was with a crowd of guys, but he was sitting off by himself. She approached him, and when he saw her, he shook his head at her.

“Not now,” he clipped. “Go.”

Her heart sank. She was so ready to have some resolution, but he was not in the place where he even wanted to talk to her.

“Anthony,” she began, but he turned his back to her.

“I don't feel good,” she finally spat out. He turned and raised an eyebrow at her. He scowled.

“Yeah?” She nodded, swallowing hard. She truly didn't feel good, though she suspected it was her nerves and emotions causing the nausea more than anything.

He exhaled angrily.

“Fine,” he said. “We'll leave in ten.” His eyes challenged her, but she nodded meekly and sat down in a chair near him. She wasn't going to fight, or argue. She'd decided she would do what he said.

A few minutes later, he stood, and walked over to her, concern on his face.

“You alright?” he asked, and his voice had gentled. She nodded.

“I want to go home,” she whispered. Now the nausea really had consumed her. She felt queasy just standing her, and the sudden realization that maybe it wasn't just nerves kicked in. He took her by the elbow.

“You have anything to drink?” he asked, and she shook her head.

“Had a few sips of wine but couldn't stomach it,” she said, the effort it took to talk causing her stomach to churn. Oh, God. She just wanted to be home, in bed, with the covers up over her.

“I'll get our coats,” he said, and all the anger had fled. “You stay put.” She obeyed.

A minute later, he came, took her by the elbow and helped her into her jacket. It all passed in a blur as he led her to the car and opened the door for her. When he shut the door, she laid her head on the door, the coolness of the window making her nausea abate for a bit. She heard Anthony's door open and shut, and the car start.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Not good,” she whispered. “So nauseous.”

He pulled away from the curb and the jolting of the car made her feel even worse.

“Anthony, I'm so sorry,” she said.

“It's alright,” he said. “Forget it now. We'll put that behind us. Let's just get you home.”

She was shaking and cold by the time they got home. She crawled into bed, after several trips to the bathroom, completely and utterly exhausted. Again, as he came to bed, she whispered, “I'm sorry.” She wished she could let it go.

“We'll talk about it in the morning,” he said. “Now go to sleep.”

What would they talk about? She wondered, as he tucked the blanket in around her, and she fell asleep.

The next morning, she woke up and thankfully felt nearly normal again. Whatever bug she'd picked up was thankfully short. She woke with thoughts of the night before consuming her. Their fight. Mariah and Braxton. Her guilty conscience. The desire to be punished by Anthony. “We'll talk in the morning,” as she fell asleep.

The door opened and Anthony entered. He had a cup of tea and some toast on a tray. She smiled.

“Oh gosh, that's sweet,” she said, and he smiled.

“All better, hon?” he asked. Hon. She liked that. It looked as if he'd put it all behind them.

She pushed herself up to sitting.

“Yeah,” she said. “I feel better.” She took the tea and took a sip. It felt good, hot and soothing. She took a tentative nibble of toast.

“Good. I'm glad you're better,” Anthony said. “Because we need to talk.” Her eyes widened.


He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” she said, waiting for him to continue.

“I read those websites,” he said. Her eyebrows raised.

“Oh?” she said. Her heart began to pound. Oh my God. He'd read them? She swallowed.

“And?” she asked.

“You were right,” he said. “I don't think it's all fake.” She nodded, waiting for him to continue. She took another sip of tea, hoping to quell her shaking nerves.

“Right,” she said. Where was he going with this?

He continued, his arms across his chest, looking serious, and even...stern.

“And last night, when you bratted out on me like that, the thought of putting you over my knee crossed my mind.” She gulped.

“It did?” She was shocked.

“Yep,” he said.

“Then why didn't you?” she whispered, the tea and toast forgotten.

“Because I needed to talk to you first,” he said. “And I'm still not exactly sure this is right for us.”

She nodded. “Me neither,” she whispered. “But I wish you'd spanked me last night, too,” she said. “I know...that sounds maybe crazy,” she continued. “I mean...who wants to be punished? But I thought about it, and wanted to put it all behind us. I hate when I lose my temper. I hate when I yell at you. But it's like I can't even stop myself.”

“I hate it too,” he said, and he chuckled. She couldn't help it. He wasn't laughing at her this time. She smiled. They sobered, and she swallowed.

“So where does that leave us?” He nodded.

“Good question,” he said. “Let me ask you something. How did you find out about all this? What caused you to even think about it, and to even look online? Was it a book, or--”

He paused, as she shook her head.

“No, nothing like that,” she said. Then she felt sheepish. “Well. I mean, I've read books since then,” she said. He grinned.

“Oh yeah?” She laughed.

“Yeah. But it all started. Well, you wouldn't believe it,” she said. He nodded. She continued. “I overheard Braxton on the phone,” she said. She told him the whole story. As she did, she watched his eyes widen, then narrow, and when she was done, there was silence.

“Very interesting,” he muttered.

Her heart pounding, she looked at him. “So what do you think?” she whispered. He looked at her silently, working his jaw, as if he were trying to think something out, trying to make a decision. Finally, he spoke.

“I think two things.” She swallowed, as he continued. “First, I think it's worth a shot. If it doesn't work out, we stop. But I've thought this over and it just might work for us. I want to take things slow, and talk it all out, but it's something I'm willing to try.” She sat up straighter, feeling excitement, relief, and fear, all at once.

“And second?” she whispered.

A muscle twitched in his jaw as he looked sternly at her.

“I think eavesdropping on someone's private conversation is the wrong thing to do, and I think you need to be punished for that.” She gasped. It was the last thing she'd expected him to say.

“What?” she whispered. He nodded.

“I'm not okay with that. If I didn't think it would embarrass the hell out of Mariah, I'd make you confess to Braxton today. But since I'm not sure that's the wisest approach, I think a spanking is in order.”

She involuntarily pulled away from him. “Oh I don't know,” she said, suddenly recanting. “I...well.” She paused. This was what she wanted. This was what she'd fantasized about, thought over, read about, and hoped for. She wasn't going to back off now, not now, when finally they were on the same page, and he was willing to try this out. And, he had a point. She'd felt guilty about eavesdropping.

And who was in charge of this anyway?

“Okay,” she said. He took the tray and took her hand, bringing her to a standing position. It all happened in a blur, raw emotion and feeling, as he draped her over his lap and  told her why he was punishing her. He brought up the eavesdropping. He brought up her tantrum the night before. Then without another word, he spanked her soundly.

She didn't fight him this time. He didn't flip her over and take her, not this time. This time, when he was done, he held her, as she cried. She felt the guilt gone. She felt humbled, and repentant. She felt thankful. And as he held her, she knew then that above all, what she felt was loved.