Sunday, June 19, 2016

Heart fluttering

Boy this has been an interesting week. Phheeeew.

First, I had a new book come out (you can read about that over at my writing blog, or read a sample in the side bar here.) It's been sorta crazy, because I've had a major back log of books I've been writing for years, so now that I'm getting them published, there hasn't been a lot of time in between releases. And no matter what, it's just a nerve wracking experience. I'm getting better at handling it, and when the summer is over, things will for sure settle down. But that was only one of the things going on this week.

On top of that? I had some health issues that I've been dealing with, and things are better but tricky, and I haven't been able to hit the track very much. Things are looking up there, though.

Add to that a week of overnight guests staying with us, and even though this highly introverted girl puts on a brave front, it sets me on edge to have guests over. I've been taking as much downtime as I can.

And today? We're hosting a party. I may have mentioned my feelings about having parties once or a dozen times. I'm not a fan. I'll smile and enjoy everyone over here while it lasts, and then I'll crash in my room to recharge for hours. I think the older I get, the more introverted I get. Thankfully, Jason understands this and my work enables me to really get a lot of downtime. My kids are older, all just about school age now, and my older teens are tremendous helpers. They know mama needs to be alone sometimes, so I can get myself together and not bite anyone's head off. So, I really can't complain.

And Jason is on it. 

He's been very aware of the perfect storm of crazymaking items on my plate this week, and though he couldn't really remove any of that stress, he did help me manage it. How? By taking time off from work, making sure my needs were met, and keeping me on one helluva short leash.

Last night, I woke up in the middle of the night to check my phone. I'm not allowed to check my phone in the middle of the night, and I've gotten spanked for it. But I had what I thought was a very good reason, one that he usually allows as an exception to the rule. So, I verry quietly picked up my phone, not making a sound. No need to disturb the man, right?

"You checking your phone?" he growls from the other side of the bed.

Sigh. 

I give him my very best quick answer and reasoning. He pauses. The voice drops, and he simply says, "No phone. Put it down."

Of course I did what the man said. But when he gives me a stern order, my heart does a bit of a flutter. Yes, there's fear involved. I mean, we're talking about my Dominant, who will not even think twice about taking me across his lap for a sound spanking if I'm disrespectful or disobedient. We've been at this long enough that it's intuitive for him, and for me. He tells me what to do, and I do it, and if I don't, I suffer the consequences. That's just how we roll.

The heart-fluttering thing is an interesting thing though, isn't it?

This week, someone happened by my blog and read a post in my "Craving Discipline" series, and he gave his very decided opinion on why I was wrong about disciplinary spanking being erotic. As this was not a private discussion but a public comment, I'd like to quote part of the comment here,  but you can read it in full on the "erotic appeal" post.


Jason Girl is going into a contradiction in terms and still trying to defend it. To me the punishment logic and the fun logic are perfect opposition. Sex is fun, pleasure, arousal, excitement, a spin in your head, butterflies in your stomach, blush on cheeks, your heart beating fast. All of that, that’s what comes with sex. You really want that spanking for all that.

And you should not, if it is to be a punishment.A real punishment spanking should be a definite deterrent, and in case of the wanted spankings it is simply not...


So as the week's played out here, I've been playing over all this in my mind. I'm certain of my position on this assertion, and I've written about it many times. Simply put? It's not being disciplined that's sexy it's that he will do it. 

I posted a quote from my latest release on facebook, and reader response was unanimous: That is hot. Was it a spanking? Well, no. It wasn't a spanking. It was the prelude to a spanking. I've been blogging and writing fiction long enough, and reading enough of it to say with some confidence that I'm not alone in my attraction to the prelude to a spanking. In fact, I think the very best spanking scenes in fiction are the ones with a good, long waltz up to the actual shebang.

 So I thought over all this as Jason exercised very strict control over me this week (and I know control is a hotbed word, but it serves the purpose, even with the caveat that my submission to him is consensual). Well, if you've been here for a bit, you'll probably realize that I very much disagree with this assertion made in the comment above. As I explained to this poster, I'm not really a masochist, and in my experience, many submissives  aren't. I don't enjoy pain for the sake of pain. Getting hurt doesn't really turn me on (though a sexy spanking can, if done right). I enjoy submitting to Jason's authority. I get a thrill out of his control over me. 

But when I'm punished? I don't enjoy the spanking. I am not aroused by a punishment spanking. That doesn't mean that his dominance isn't sexy. 

Spanking is such a very small part of all of this. There is so much more.

Conflict resolution
Intimacy 
Power exchange 

Most submissives are spankos. And most dominants enjoy spanking in some way. That doesn't mean that spanking as punishment is useless, or that a dominant is wrong to be turned on by a spanking. 

It simply means that they are healthy, sexual beings who crave intimacy. It's because spanking is such an intimate, personal experience that many of us prefer to be quiet about it. People write to me all the time and say, "I could never blog about spanking like you do! It's too personal!" And I get that. I'm used to it now, mostly because I enjoy processing our D/s dynamic in the written word and this is in an anonymous venue. I mean, it's not like I give my blog address to my mother. 
Knowing I've earned a punishment is a big part of the deterrent, because I'm wired to want to obey Jason. I am so happy knowing that he is pleased with me, and I aim to make that a high priority of mine. 

So this week? Jason kept me on an even keel by putting me over his knee repeatedly, and none of those spankings were foreplay or erotic. And where did that leave me? Turned on at the mere sight of the man. He climbed into bed last night to me and whispered, "how's my little one?" I got all gushy and squirmy and snuggled up to him. He placed one hand on my bottom as I closed my eyes to go to sleep and most nights, he gives me a good, solid, goodnight whack. And I get to tingling. It's very calming. 



I got one very hard spanking this week, and I don't even remember what the reasoning was, but I do know it was with a silent implement to my sit spot, good and hard. Lawdy. And when he was done I was sniffling, and he chucked a finger under my chin and said, "It's hard for you now. But later, you'll be glad I did that. And you'll be fawning all over me with those eyes of yours." (See what I mean? Stern is sexy.)

Ha! The big guy has my number. 

I need to cut this post short. It's taken me three stages just to write it, as I have a way lot to do here in preparation for a party, and Jason wants to check in with me momentarily. He's going to spank me. And that makes me very happy. :)

Sunday, June 12, 2016

The Beauty of No -- guest post

Good morning, readers. I look forward to Sundays so much, and one of those reasons is I get to pay a visit to all of you. 

Things are going so very well here. We've just begun summer vacation, and I love summer. Jason is taking some vacation time this week (yay!), and in less than a week, I am releasing my favorite book that I have ever written, a historical novel that takes place on the American frontier (you can read an excerpt here). I'll be discussing that book with all of you because it touches on so many of the reasons I am drawn to submitting to my husband, and captures the inherent intimacy and trust of a Domestic discipline relationship. The main character grows and flourishes under her husband's leadership and guidance much the way I've experienced in my own life here with Jason. But more on that later. 

Today, I am sharing a guest post. It isn't a post about getting spanked. It's actually a post about not getting spanked. So why am I sharing it with you? 

My best friend and co-writer Maisy Archer isn't in a D/s relationship. And she's not only okay with that, she's happy, and fulfilled. 

Many of you who stop by here to read aren't in a D/s relationship. I do suspect most readers are drawn to spanking on some level, as it only makes logical sense. But many of you have written to me, and you haven't had your desires fulfilled. Some are curious about the lifestyle. And many of you are drawn in some way, the way we're drawn to a fantasy, but not really interested in pursuing the dynamic in real life. 

This week on my writing blog, I shared what I've shared with all of you before, a post about the first time Jason spanked me. I don't discuss discipline and the deeper side of things on that blog like I do here, but I do write about spanking. And after I shared that post, Maisy and I talked about it. Although Maisy isn't in a Domestic Discipline relationship, she is submissive to her husband. I encouraged her to write about her relationship, because I think it's inspiring to see how we all have such very unique experiences, hopes, and dreams. She agreed.

Her post is so honest, and beautifully explains why some of us are drawn to submission to begin with. I asked for her permission to share it here, with all of you, and she readily agreed.  I hope you enjoy this post and find it as inspiring as much as I do. 

~~~~~
"The Beauty of No" by Maisy Archer
This is a year for milestones – I’ve published my first book. I’m running for the first time in my life. I’m turning 40. My oldest is getting a learner’s permit and learning to drive. My middle baby is a pre-teen. My youngest is in double-digits. My husband and I will celebrate 17 years of marriage.

All that accomplishment and change in the air make me reflective, and I want to get personal for just a minute in a way that I hardly ever do. The other day, Jane shared a story with you about the first time she was spanked by her husband. Today, I’m going to share that I don’t get spanked by my husband… and I’m okay with that.

The first time I read about a spanking in a romance, I was about 16 years old and reading Kathleen E. Woodiwiss’s The Flame and The Flower. I’d been reading romance since I was in junior high, and I was well-versed in spunky heroines and dashing heroes, but this spanking stuff was a completely new idea to me. On the surface, the spanking was everything I’d been raised to abhor, not because it was brutal or painful, but because it was patriarchal and anti-feminist –  strong men exerting control over women who were too scared or overwhelmed to speak up for themselves. Barbaric, all of it. And I knew, with an absolute certainty I haven’t felt about anything since I was that na├»ve 16-year-old, that I would have an equal partnership when I got married – a 50/50 division of labor and responsibility and authority. I wanted a guy who would listen to me and respect my wishes.

So it should come as no surprise that my first serious boyfriend checked all of my boxes. He was intelligent and funny, a great student, and what’s more, he’d been raised by a single mom who worked hard to provide for him. He had the utmost respect for strong women. Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner! Right? Well… Not so much.

One night, while a blinding snowstorm raged outside, I whined to my boyfriend that I’d had a truly awful day and I was desperate for coffee ice cream, but it was too stormy to go out. I wanted it now.  I needed it now. I didn’t see how I’d get through a night of studying without it. Then I sighed, and said good night, and picked up my book to study.

Please try to picture my shock when, half an hour after we hung up, I got a knock on my door. My boyfriend, crusted with snow, carrying ice cream.

He’s a hero, my friends said. So devoted! So loving! All I could say was, “Are you fucking nuts? There’s a blizzard out there and you drove through it for ice cream!”

“But you wanted it!” he said, all hurt and showing it. “I just wanted to get you what you wanted.”

Dear Lord. What an awesome, terrible power. Could I convince this guy to do whatever I wanted? Over the next few years (yes, years. I’m a slow learner), I certainly tried. He moved away for a job, and would drive to see me constantly. If I complained that I wanted romance, flowers would be on my doorstep. No amount of money was too great, no inconvenience too insurmountable.

The more I pushed, the more he acquiesced, and the more miserable I became. Rather than making me feel powerful, I felt weak and filled with doubt.

The reason, as I’m sure many of you can easily guess, is that I felt the responsibility that comes with such power. It’s a burden to have to think before you whine or vent, to have to consider someone else’s best interests when you can barely discern your own, to set the rules and limits for a relationship. I didn’t want that weight. I wasn’t capable of carrying it.

I met my now-husband just four months after I finally (painfully) ended things with that other boy. I was 22 years old. My husband was 40.  (Yes, you read that right. I’ve not yet attained the age that my husband was when I met him.) And things were different right from the first.

“But I want to see the other movie! But can’t we go out to eat? I can so make it home on a quarter-tank of gas, I’ve done it before!” It pains me to remember how immature I was, truly. But every silly question, every whine, every bratty outburst was met with the same firm ‘no.’ No, you can’t do dangerous things. No, we can’t spend money we don’t have. No, I am not going to see a fucking Tom Cruise movie, because I fucking hate those movies, and that’s final.

He’s overbearing, my friends said! A dinosaur, a caveman, a throwback! Are you being abused? Can we call a help line? Should we stage an intervention? And all I could think was, “Thank God. I can finally breathe again.”


We hadn’t been dating a full year when I became pregnant with our oldest. I was scared at the sight of the positive pregnancy test, and then absolutely terrified five months later when I was diagnosed with pre-eclampsia and confined to bed-rest for the next four months. I was losing my job, my freedom, my life as I knew it, all in one fell swoop. But my husband didn’t panic. He calmly told me what we would do, and when we would do it. He made me focus on myself and the baby, while he moved us to a new apartment closer to my family, and worked two jobs to support us through my lost income. And every morning, he made me chocolate chip cookies, because that was the only way to ensure that I would drink my milk. He took care of me when I couldn’t take care of myself. He earned my loyalty, and my trust, and my heart.

 And so, we got married. And for seventeen years, he’s been saying no to me. And it’s beautiful. Because when I trust him to set limits, I can allow myself to dream as big as I want.  Because when he says yes, it’s only because he’s certain that it’s the best thing for us – the best thing for our family, and our marriage, and me.


No, we can’t afford to go on vacation again yet. No, we shouldn’t pick up and move to Tennessee, no matter how cheap the houses on House Hunters are. No, you cannot accomplish that entire list of house projects – pick two. I said TWO!  No, you’re tired and you need to put down your damn phone and go to bed by nine o’clock, no excuses.  No, we can’t eat grilled chicken with peaches, because peaches with chicken just sounds fucking weird, and I don’t like it, and that’s final.

He takes care of me, even now that I’m fully capable of caring for myself. He takes care of our kids. He encourages my dreams. He’s all-in, all the time.

A few years ago, as Jane mentioned, I recommended that she read the book Knight by Kristen Ashley, and it got us started on this whole awesome discussion of dominance and submission and spanking. It’s safe to say that my feelings on all those topics had done a complete 180 since The Flame and The Flower, so I encouraged her to go for it… and of course, I started thinking about my own marriage. We have a beautiful relationship already where he is clearly the one in charge, setting the rules and the limits. Wouldn’t it be better, stronger, if he could take me over his knee as well?

(Plus, I know I’m preaching to the choir when I say, spanking is HOT AS HELL.)

So, I talked to him about it, and laid out my case.  It will strengthen our marriage! It will improve our sex life! It will help keep me grounded! It works so well for so many people!

I was prepared for some reluctance, for him to balk at the taboo nature of it, but surely the sexy factor would sway him, right? It’s not like he’s never delivered a sexy swat in the heat of the moment, so he must find it somewhat attractive. I wasn’t prepared for a firm, uncompromising…

No. 

No, we are not other people. No, our marriage doesn’t need strengthening. No, I help you deal with your freak-outs just fine already. No fucking way does our sex life need improvement, and if you don’t believe me, I’ll prove it to you!

So I dropped it. No muss, no fuss, and honestly, no disappointment.

Oh, I sometimes daydream. I sometimes get jealous of the way spanking keeps Jane on an even keel, and keeps her husband’s attention so firmly focused on her. I still think spanking can be sexy as hell. But I don’t pine for it. Because I have a thousand dreams and fantasies – and I get to write about them every day! But I trust my husband to know which ones are best for me, for us, in reality.

That’s what submission looks like at Maisy’s house.  It looks a lot like ‘no.’ And it really is beautiful.



Sunday, June 5, 2016

Swish. Thud. Whooooosh


Hey, everyone. Late here tonight. Wow, what a week it was, with various things coming up, but it was as fantastic a weekend as it was a rough week, so I'll take it. Tonight, I'm going to ask Jason for a spanking. I haven't been spanked today and I could sure use it. He told me last night he's looking forward to the summer because the air conditioning will be in the windows and the fans on, and “it's time to return to the good ol' favorites, like the paddle and my belt.” Oh, my. To a spanko like me, that sounds perfect, as long as I manage to stay out of the punishment thing. You know I don't like to be punished. You know, I was thinking that facing a punishment spanking very well may fit under the stages of grief.

Denial – “oh, no! No, I didn't real mean it that way. Don't misunderstand! I was...speaking metaphorically. Trying to crack a joke! I didn't know you'd want to spank me for it! You aren't serious, are you?”

This type of denial happens here sometimes. Jason looks at me with that look in his eyes and the signs of alpha bossiness kicking in. The jaw ticks, eyes narrow, arms cross and he says something in that low, stern voice like, “What did I tell you about this? And didn't I tell you if it happened again I'd put you over my knee?”

That's Jason's go-to phrase. “Young lady, if I have to speak to you about that again, I'll put you over my knee,” though he does quite often say flat-out something like, “I will spank you. Understood?” and usually I'm nodding vigorously and pledging obedience for eternity, because if I'm getting a warning, then he's already getting twitchy palms, and I'd better mind my p's and q's.

And then occasionally after I know I'm getting a spanking, I'll hit the second stage of grief: anger. This happened in a post I shared quite recently. Even after he'd drawn me across his knee and spanked me good and hard, I kicked my feet and yelled at him. Yikes. Suffice it to say, I think that was three weeks ago and I've been a veritable angel ever since.

Bargaining is the third stage of grief! “You just spanked me this morning. Couldn't we consider an alternative form of motivation?”

But sometimes I know I'm in for it and he sits there on the edge of the bed waiting for me. I pace in front of him, wringing my hands, because I really don't like being punished, and I know that a punishment spanking is going to hurt like hell. I mean, even the regular check-in/stress relief or even sexy spankings hurt like hell. He pretty much makes sure I always feel a twinge when I sit, every day (and I love it that way, I really really do). Last night we went on a date, and I'd forgotten to do something he'd asked me to. If there's ever a time he's loathe to punish me, it's after a date, and boy am I right there with him. But I was snuggling up to him in bed and he said, “I'm not going to spank you this time, but I'm not going to warn you again. Got it? I'll give you a good spanking if you forget what I tell you again.” Then he flipped me over and gave me a few hard swats. Woke up this morning, still feeling those swats.

The pacing and wringing my hands are a form of silent bargaining, I think, or maybe it's me reverting back to the denial part. Gosh, it is just really hard taking my medicine when I'm in trouble. I mean, sometimes it's just a regular non-punishment spanking and as I'm lowering knee-side I say things like, “Please, please remember I'm still sore from yesterday and feeling very sensitive and just got out of the shower --- owww!”

Then, the next stage is acceptance. I take a deep breath, shuffle forward, squeeze my eyes shut tight, and bend over.

But there's another stage to a spanking, too. I call it the whoosh stage.

There are a large variety of flavors of the spankings Jason gives me. There are the punishment ones, and those are quite self-explanatory. I'm in trouble, and he wants to give me incentive to not do whatever I did again. These are what I sometimes call a “real” spanking, which is sort of a misnomer because the other spankings are certainly not “fake.” But, these are typically accompanied by a lecture and he calls me “young lady,” or “little girl,” and those spankings are not fun. I go through phases where I get myself in trouble in clusters, and then go for long stretches of time when I don't get in trouble at all. (As I'm in the current stretch, do send on over your well wishes and prayers that my stretch will continue!) 



Then there are sexy spankings, but those hardly ever happen. That's when spanking is used as foreplay. We enjoy them, but they're just not as satisfying to either one of us on a variety of levels, so those are super rare. I don't even remember the last time I had a sexy spanking.

Stress relief is intentional: I'm stressed or upset over something, and he puts me over his knee to center me. That's also quite rare, but a really nice tool to have. The last time I got a stress relief spanking was several weeks ago when a whole bunch of things hit me at once. I asked for stress relief, and he was willing to grant it.

He was propped up in bed and I laid myself straight over his lap. Stress relief is usually slow, very deliberate, and very firm, until he feels I've had enough. When he feels I've had enough, he usually orders me up, holds me a bit, and then tucks me in.

But the most common spanking he gives me is the role affirmation/check-in type. These spankings are to make sure I feel a sting when I sit down or walk about throughout the day and they're my very favorite. They have the seriousness that I crave, without the overhanging emotions wrapped up in being disciplined.. They're to remind me to obey him, and quite often he goes over what he expects me to do while he's gone.

You've gotten a little mouthy there earlier,” smack! “So you'd better be sure you get that mouth under control.” swat! Or “you've got a busy day coming up.” Swat! “You remember what your role is, here, and what I expect of you.” Smack!

It's during the stress relief or check-in spanking that Jason intentionally aims for the final stage of a spanking that I think is unique to spanking – the whoosh.

Sometimes people write to me who are in a spanking relationship, and they're frustrated because the spanking isn't satisfying to them. The discipline spanking isn't serious enough, the sexy spanking is not hard enough, or the role affirmation just missed the mark. There are many reasons why couples find certain spankings unsatisfying (again, this is why open communication is so essential), but I'd like to propose a theory: I think that many spankings end before they get to the whoosh stage.

I know I've said it a million times, but it bears repeating. Spankings hurt. They really, really do, and for people who want to be spanked, it isn't really a spanking if it doesn't hurt. Now, why we crave spankings that really hurt is a whole other post for another day, and I propose that many within the D/s community who desire spanking don't really do it for masochistic reasons. I am not a masochist, and I know very few submissives who are. In fact, I've heard masochists insist that a D/s or DD dynamic wouldn't work for them, because they want to feel pain.

No, there are many things I like about being spanked, but the pain isn't one of them. I find Jason's authority over me erotic and attractive. I find submitting to him deeply satisfying. I enjoy the feel of his spanking me, the actual physical connection of that hand-to-bottom moment, and the feeling I get after I'm spanked. Centered, and happy, and at ease. I could go on and on.

But one of the ways we go from Point A (wanting or needing a spanking) to Point B (deeply satisfied with the spanking) is because Jason knows how to reach the whoosh point.

I'll explain what yesterday's spanking looked like. I'm kneeling before him, quite happy, and he's got the very quiet rod out. He pats his knee, and I stand, then he pulls down my capris and gently pushes me over his lap. The first few swats hurt pretty badly. He's experienced at this, so he knows how to give me smaller, quicker swats that help warm me up and sting all over, but not terribly. He starts going over what he expects of me that day, and it looks like this. 
 

You'll be my very good girl today.” Swish. Thud. I jump a bit, or wince, as it stings. He pauses a few seconds in between each swish and thud as he talks to me about the day, or what he expects, and reminds me what I need to focus on. Then it happens.

Whoosh.

The tension leaves my body. It's like I'm a piece of spaghetti, all rigid and straight, dropped into boiling water, then... whoosh. Boneless.

Ahh,” he says. “There it is. I feel the breath go straight out of you.” It's like he's got a finger on my pulse, the pulse of my spanking reception, and when he gets what he's looking for, he dings the bell. Done! Level “whoosh” achieved.

After that stage, he usually gives me a few more good swats, just to drive the point home. I can take it much harder or faster after I hit this stage, and it's not uncommon that he lands one wicked swat for good measure. And then we're done. He puts down his implement and gives me a few good swats with his hand for that connection piece, and he rubs out the sting a bit before bringing me to my feet again. And there I am again. Happy as a lark.

Swish. Thud. Whoosh.

There's just something about the adrenaline rush that hits me all at once, almost like a runner's high after a run. It's soothing, and comforting, and something that I don't think people outside the lifestyle would really understand. It's the intimate connection. The surrender over his knee. The knowledge that I faced a spanking and took it. Frankly, it makes me feel on top of the world.

And now I just totally got myself craving a spanking. Let's see if I can make sure it stays a good one. ;)