Monday, October 15, 2018

Pulling back to center -- making it work with upheaval

Good morning, readers. I said last week that Jason is holding me accountable to weekly blogging, and he is. He just gave me permission to blog this morning instead of yesterday, when a few things came up that I hadn’t planned on. 

So…here I am! 😊

Lately, things have been in a bit of a state of upheaval here, and Jason and I are weathering through. Parenting teens is a tricky thing and although I really love it, it’s stretching us in many ways. Our teens are up later than they were when they were little. They need loads of attention, they need to talk and process things. They need rides hither and yon, and things like new sneakers and backpacks. Then our other non-teens have their own needs as well. Jason has his job and I have mine, we’re preparing for major renovation in our home, and travel and extended family visiting add more complications to the mix. 

Things are fantastic, though. Really. It’s just a busy, busy time, and for someone who thrives with consistency and structure, there have been times lately that I’ve been scrambling for purchase. 

This fall marks our sixth year living a full-time Dom/sub lifestyle. My, how things have changed. I always get a bit reflective this time of year. I love being Jason’s submissive and he says he loves being my dominant. We never really anticipated how things would change as the years passed. It’s become who we are. We’re most fulfilled in our roles, so we’ve learned to make this work despite the urgency of the moment with so many other things. 

And that’s it, isn’t it? When our time and energy and focus are called in so many directions, it becomes harder and harder to find time for each other. But anything that is worth doing is worth doing well, and anything that is worth doing well must be prioritized.

I think what is most telling over the years is the fruit we bear when we live this lifestyle. We’re happier. There’s less conflict. The erotic vibe in our marriage keeps the romance alive, and despite our aging bodies and the way we’ve changed, we’re as into each other now as we’ve ever been. More so, even. There’s something about growing together that pulls us closer. He still makes my heart go a-flutter with a mere look, and he still curls an arm around my shoulders when we go out together and calls me baby. 

So how do we make it work? We keep pulling ourselves back to center. 

Saturday we didn’t check in. I was busy, he was busy, and mid-morning I started getting grumpy that our routine was off. I said something off-hand and he snapped back at me, and we started snipping at each other. My heart was uneasy, and I was saddened. He was sitting at his desk at his computer. He wasn’t fuming—it wasn’t a big fight, but just a little spat—and I sat down beside him. I didn’t say anything, or even pout. I just quietly looked at him like, “I don’t want to fight with you.” 

And before I knew what was happening, he pushed away from the computer, pinned me to the bed, and kissed me. “I’m not going to fight with you,” he said. 

“Well then don’t,” I said back. “You’re taking what I said way too seriously.” 

He tipped me over and smacked my ass. “And you’re pouting.” 

I giggled, and he smiled, and then he tickled me. “We’re not going to make this a fight,” he said. 

I agreed. “That would be stupid and silly. I’m sorry I snapped at you.” 

“Good,” he said, pinning my wrists above my head. “Then behave yourself, and remember your rules. And don’t you dare come back here later and say this wasn’t a check-in.” 

He smacked my ass again, and let me go. 

Did we go over all my rules? No. Did he put me in my place with a good spanking over his lap? Well, no. But we stopped the silliness before it got out of control. We recognized that we didn’t want to fight, and that we had the control to stop this. So we did. He reminded me who he is, and I submitted to that. And he made me feel special. 

Sometimes that’s all it takes. A humble apology. Dropping what we’re doing and reminding each other who we are and why we do this. 

Sometimes it means we get a babysitter so we can go to dinner and talk alone, just the two of us.  

Sometimes it means shutting off Youtube and Netflix and locking the door and making love. 

Sometimes he sets his alarm early (I get up before him, so I don’t usually need to set one), because we have early morning plans that might threaten our check-in, and we want to make that happen. 

And sometimes our check-in ends up modified, and we have to settle for the drive-thru version and say, “Good enough.” 

Sometimes--and for me, I have to admit that's with regularity, at the very least every Monday morning--it means a good, hard spanking is needed to remind me who I belong to. 

Making this works means recognizing that our lives aren’t static. Children grow. Older parents grow ill and demand our time and attention. Our jobs change. We get pregnant and have babies, or sometimes we are the ones ill. Sometimes it means finding what isn’t working and fixing it. And when things are working well, we need to not take the good for granted, but find out why and continue to make things work. 

Sometimes It means finding the balance between prioritizing what we need, and not putting ourselves above all others. It means giving thanks for the beauty we already have and finding contentment with what we already have. 

Sunday, October 7, 2018

Putting me in my place

Hello, faithful blog readers! I know it’s been a while, and my posting has been inconsistent. Well, this past week I told Jason that something is missing when I don’t blog. Processing through our dynamic here helps fuel my submission in a way literally nothing else does. I am busy, pursuing my career, parenting these crazy kids of mine. Two teens now. It’s kind of crazy. And I considered giving up blogging. But after some soul-searching and talking with Jason, we decided that no, I really need to still do this. 

So he’s holding me accountable. Well, because that’s just how we do things here. He made it a rule that I blog on Sunday, and if I don’t, I’ll answer to him. 

I asked him to. I know it’s better for me—for us. So, rest assured I’ll be returning to Sunday blogging unless I have a very, very good excuse. Ha!

I got in trouble this week. Really, thinking back on it, I needed him to put me back in my place. I say that sometimes, and I know it sounds terribly old-fashioned or even wrong. He says it himself. “Remember your place.” But I never explained what that means. It doesn’t mean I’m below him or even subservient. Years ago, he told me, “Your place is by my side.” But it also means I keep my tongue, I defer to him, and I show respect. Why? Well, because we agreed he’s our leader. 

My mother-in-law laughed when I admitted I was stubborn this week. “Wow, you two must really get into it sometimes,” she said, knowing full well how stubborn my husband is. 

I just smiled. “Oh, we’ve learned how to communicate,” I told her. I didn’t tell her that that communication sometimes involves me belly-down over his knee. But she doesn’t need to know that. 

So this week, after returning from traveling, I dove head-first into what I needed to do. Work. Home. Soaking up my sweet children. Re-connecting with my man. And it was beautiful and perfect, and I loved it. But it’d been a while since I’d been spanked, and Jason said I needed to be eased back into it. 

In retrospect? I think what I really needed was for him to whip my ass good and hard. I’m just way too headstrong and independent. And yes, I’m asking him to read this blog post when I’m done. I’m not criticizing him, because I love and trust him. This is me processing what I need to process, and why I need to blog regularly. 

So when things are off, it’s often a good, thorough session over his knee that I really crave. 

I was exhausted and had much on my mind. I did laundry and dishes. I worked. I answered emails. I brought my kids to their lessons and extra-curriculars, cooked dinner and cleaned. Read stories and snuggled and spent time with my man. But I wasn’t quite myself. My routines were a little off, and I’m very much a creature of habit who thrives with structure and routine. 

So finally, things came to a head one night. I got angry at Jason. I said something to him, I didn’t like his response, so I lost my mind and swore at him. I stormed away, knowing I really really had crossed the line. He didn’t say anything though, and I felt terrible. I needed him to tell me to stop. To remind me to obey. But our teens were right there, and even though he mostly doesn’t care about asserting his authority in front of others, with teens it’s a tricky thing. 

I felt terrible inside. So when we were alone, I apologized. Jason doesn’t feel good and was exhausted himself, so I fully accepted that he might not give me the spanking I so richly deserved. I came upstairs and said, “I was rude to you, daddy. And I’m sorry.” 

He nodded and gave me “the look.” 

“You were,” he said. “And you’ll answer for that. I couldn’t do much in the moment, but you will be spanked. What’s our rule?” 

I whispered the rule I broke. “Be respectful to daddy.” 

He nodded. “Go get ready for bed.” I did. He was so tired. I was so tired. But he knows I do better when he puts me back to where I should be, and then we both sleep it off. So even though he was totally exhausted, he got out our hairbrush and ordered me over his lap. I shook a little. I haven’t been spanked much lately, and that thing hurts. 

He lectured good and hard while he spanked good and hard. Reminded me I was his. That we have rules for a reason. That even if I’m upset I’m never allowed to speak disrespectfully to him, and that he won’t tolerate disrespect. 

It was a brief, but good and hard spanking. Then he said, “now give daddy a kiss and go to sleep.” I cried a little, kissed him, put my head on his chest for a hug, and he kissed my forehead. He put the brush away and tucked me in. I still had really big feelings in my chest, and I don’t quite know how to describe them. I think It was really mostly very overwhelming to me. I don’t even remember the last time I was punished. It might have been weeks or months ago, and I think it was fairly brief. Punishment is so very different from any other spanking he gives me. 

I slept like a baby by his side. 

The next day, I felt a little subdued and thankful. Submissive. He can “put me in my place” better than I can myself. There’s something missing until he does. 

And this is why this works for us. It doesn’t work for everyone. It’s been six years next month since Jason and I started our dynamic, and as the years go by, I see how very differently people live their dynamics. For us, though, I need to be put in my place, and I’m oh so happy when I’m there. 

Wednesday, September 12, 2018

Monday Morning Maintenance

Monday mornings, Jason lets me have it. 

Things slide here a little on the weekends. Not necessarily my obedience, but we’re more lax with the regular things like food and bedtimes, and he likes me to get right back into my schedule on Monday. And I go from having him here with me all weekend to working, and having him busy all day.

So when Monday morning rolls around, I know I’m in for an intense session, and because I’m a wimp I usually try to get out of it. I know this might seem counterintuitive. Shouldn’t I want it? Well, spankings hurt, I’m a wimp, and I know he’s going to spank me anyway, so I think it’s a sort of necessary pushback. I mean, I don’t run from the house screaming, but sometimes have conversations like this.

“You know, I’m good today. Not sure I need a spanking.”

“Ha. Funny. Get over my lap.”

“Does it have to be with that terrible implement?"

“You have ten seconds to strip.”

And so it goes.

So, Monday morning rolled around and we started in on this. He had that horrible thick pink eraser thing and pointed to his knee.

“That’s loud, though,” I said with a little pout. My high schoolers were already at school, but my younger ones still here. Sadly, they were occupied and out of earshot, so that was really a flimsy excuse.

“Over my knee.”

“It hurts, daddy, and I’ve been a very good girl, you know.”

“Drop ‘em.”

So…I “dropped ‘em” and got over his lap and tensed, waiting. And so it began. He lectured me good and hard about getting to the gym and staying on track and making sure I was being a very good girl. I squirmed and wriggled and said, “ow ow ow ow ow!”

He paused and chuckled. “You’re a wimp now. You used to be able to take a spanking. Not sure why you can’t anymore.”

I mumbled something about losing weight and getting older and hormones, but my reprieve was over and we were back at it.

On and on that spanking went until I felt myself getting to that release in submission. I let everything go. I let myself remember why we do this. I reminded myself why I obey him and why we have rules, and how good things are when I stick to my plan. And then, finally, he was done. He rubbed out the sting and told me I was a very good girl.

Monday seems to set the tone for the rest of the week, I think. Without that morning check-in, I don’t focus as well as I should. And the truth is, when he spanks me, even a hard maintenance session like this one, I feel loved. I’m at the epitome of his attention. His utter focus. He wants me to thrive with the structure and discipline he provides me.

I’m often asked how I accomplish what I do in a week, and I think it’s my not-so-secret secret.

Monday Morning Maintenance definitely helps.