Monday, February 20, 2017

What a Daddy Does

Well, it’s that time of year. Seems everyone I know is sick in one way or another. I can’t complain, since it’s been nearly a full year since we’ve all come down with something, other than a few minor colds, but now, it’s hit us hard. Jason was sick the worst, at first. I feel needy for him, when he’s in bed sick. I miss the attention, having his help, and I just miss him.  He snuggles me and brushes my hair back off my forehead and tells me on the days that he can’t check me in that he’s still my daddy, and I’m still his good girl.

I put on a brave front, and do what needs to be done. I take things easy, and don’t put too much pressure on myself. I keep meals simple, and keep the kids away so he can rest. And then sure enough, just about the time when Jason is getting back to normal, I get plagued with illness. Fevers and chills and a headache.

Now we all know what it’s like when mom is sick. Life must go on! Moms don’t get to be sick.

But things are a bit different when there’s a daddy in the house.

But, like moms do, I push through anyway because mom can’t afford to be sick. I am not only sick, I’ve got those raging hormones, and it seems just impossible to be nice to everyone. I snap at my son, and let loose a few nasty things that I should not say. Jason comes over to me and sees me sitting in a chair, too tired to even move. He puts his hand on my forehead and says I’m warm. “Up to bed with you,” he says with gentle sternness. “I’ll take over.” And he does. He comes up to my room and sits on the bed, rubbing my back and tucking the blanket in around me. “You rest,” he says. “You’ve done nothing but take care of all of us when we were sick. Now it’s your turn.”

I feel awful, but I can’t say I don’t like the feeling of being taken care of like this. He does the laundry, and cooks meals. He manages the kids, and checks on me from time to time. I fiddle around on my phone when I’m not dozing, as it’s hard to concentrate and read when I feel sick like this. He comes up to me and pulls me into a cuddle, and kisses my forehead.

Because that’s what a daddy does.

But I feel guilty for having snapped at everyone. I don’t like when I behave like this, and I’m ashamed of myself. I know I have excuses, and I’m not myself, but I don’t like excuses. We talk a bit, and when he asks how I’m feeling I tell him, and he holds me. I apologize for being bratty. He kisses me again and says in that sweet-stern way of his, “We will deal with your attitude when you feel better. You know that little girls aren’t allowed to behave that way.” My heart thumps and I nod, both ashamed yet secure.

“I know, daddy,” I whisper. “I really am sorry.”

He nods. “You’ll go over my knee for that later, but for now you need rest.”

I squirm a bit. I can’t help it. I need to know. “It won’t be very bad, will it?” I ask.

He merely gives me an appraising look and shrugs. “Well that, little girl, is up to you, now, isn’t it? Are you going to behave yourself?”

Gentle-stern. Sweet but serious. He cares for me, but makes sure I don’t lose the sure footing of his dominance.

Because that’s what a daddy does.

He leaves me to go cook for our brood, and instructs the kids to clean up. They do. And when all is said and done, he orders me to stay in bed and get in my jammies. I do. A short while later, he peeks in on me, lifts the covers, and says, “Jammies?” He’s checking to make sure I’ve done what I said I would. He nods and tucks me back in.

Keeping me safe, and cared for, and making sure that I’ve obeyed. And yes, he did spank me, but it wasn't awful. It was sorta what I needed, I think.

Because that’s what a daddy does. 

Sunday, February 5, 2017

Taking Down My Walls

I was a little upset with Jason this morning. I wanted him to come with me somewhere (we had planned on it), and he decided it was better for him not to go. I expressed my opinion and he expressed his decision. That’s how it goes here a lot of the time – I offer my perspective, he listens, then he does what he thinks is best. So, I prepared to leave (under protest, but I didn’t act disrespectfully) and before I left, I kissed him. He wrapped his hand around the back of my neck and whispered, “When you are done, you come straight home to check in. No running around to do errands or anything. Come straight back to me.”

So, I did, and as soon as I came in, I heard him call my name. I went up to him. He was already waiting for me in our room, with his “magic wand.” I knelt and showed him my to-do list, and we discussed it while I tucked my head up against his chest. I sure love that connection with him, and I really needed it this morning. We discussed my list and our plans for the day, and then he said, “Drop your pants and climb over daddy’s lap. Now.” He wasn’t angry, but he was very serious. So over I went, bared and ready to take my morning spanking.

“You need a good dose of this today,” he said. “I can feel it. You need to be reminded who’s in charge here. You need to do what your daddy says, and behave yourself. Are you going to obey daddy?”

I was squirming and kicking my feet, but he held me fast. “Yes, daddy,” I said, and on and on he went. Lawdy, did that hurt. It wasn’t as bad as a punishment spanking, but it was good and thorough.

“You’ll stay on track with your list today, and come to me if you need me,” he said, while peppering me good and hard with swats. “You’ll speak respectfully and obey your daddy. You’ll remember your place.” I was nodding and affirming everything he said in my most submissive voice ever, until finally he was done. This was not a sexy kinda morning. This was about putting me in my place.
Keeping my walls down.

The beauty of a working D/s dynamic is that the walls are broken down -- the walls that hold me back from being soft, sweet, and submssive...vulnerable. I can feel them. It’s almost a hardening of my heart toward him. When he spanks me, those walls break down. I can’t hide. I can’t hold back. I’m stripped of all that holds me back from him, and reduced to nothing but utter transparency. Delivering a spanking is one of the most overtly dominant actions, and my going over his knee is one of the most overtly submissive actions. This is why he spanks me nearly every day.

The walls I put up to avoid being hurt. When I am upset with Jason, those walls begin to creep back up. 

After he spanked me this morning, I felt “little.” I don’t really know how else to describe it. It’s not really little in the sense of a babygirl who likes stuffies or coloring (I have no personal aversion to either, they just don’t attract me). I just feel sort of…quiet. My spirit feels little, because there are no walls that keep me apart from Jason. After he spanks me, he often says, “Ah, there’s my good girl back,” or “there she is, my sweet girl is back again.” When he spanks me to show me he’s boss, like he did this morning, I’m left feeling bared in more ways than one. My heart is laid bare.

He put down the rod, and rubbed my stinging skin, then let me go. I stood and climbed right on up in his lap and tucked my head up against his neck, my arms going around his neck. He held me like that, rocking me a little. “You’re such a good girl for daddy,” he said, and honest to God, if I were a cat I would’ve purred. I sort of melted into him and smiled and giggled. I can’t help it. When I need a spanking, and get that type of spanking that reminds me to obey him, my walls are torn down.

This is why he spanks me so frequently. If he doesn’t, my dominant side comes back out. The dominant side of me is a goal-setter and a go-getter. I manage my house and the needs of my children. I balance budgets and tackle laundry and orchestrate calendars. I teach and guide and instruct. I mop floors and cook meals, return library books, wrap birthday gifts, and make doctor’s appointments. I write books and prepare book launches and correspond with editors and clean out my inbox. I do all the very many things that need to be done, just like all of you do. I have to access the dominant part of my brain to get things done.

For me to be submissive, I need those walls brought down again. 

When I’m upset about something? I build those walls so fast you’d think I was a bricklayer. Up the walls go. I might obey outwardly but my heart isn’t inwardly softened toward Jason. Brick by brick, layer by layer, I keep him apart from me when I’m hurt. When I’m a raging hormonal lunatic, those bricks are ever so handy. Up those walls go, and he knows when the walls are up. He says he can feel it when he holds me, and see it in my eyes.

There are several ways he brings those walls back down again. Sometimes it’s a snuggle and some sweet daddy time. Sometimes we need to have a good talk, and sometimes (ahem) we need to get down to business, because intimacy has a way of baring me to him once again. But sometimes the most efficient way of getting me back to “sweet, submissive, and surrendered,” is by taking me across his lap, not even just across his knee like he’s wont to do, but straight up off the floor and strewn over his lap.

He likes me to feel the sting every day. I like the feel, the reminder that I’m his. In the beginning it was oh so hard to put myself out there, to allow myself to surrender to him. I feared rejection. I feared being hurt. I didn't want what was so important to me to be belittled, or misunderstood. I wanted him to understand, and I'll always love him for understanding so very well. 

The longer we are at this, it becomes so much easier and yet so much harder. Easier to submit. Easier to obey. Easier to trust. And it becomes so much harder in other ways. Meeting his high expectations. Submitting to a punishment. The thought of being separated from him. Not just taking those walls down, but leaving them down. 

Tuesday, January 31, 2017

A Dominant has needs, too.

Last night, I got myself in trouble. It wasn’t awful trouble, or something that would get me a very serious spanking. It wasn’t even something that really upset Jason, but more of a “rules is rules” kinda thing. When I told him what happened, while I knelt in front of him for my evening check-in, he merely nodded and said, “oh, honey, you shouldn’t have done that.” That gentle chiding does something to me. When he listens, but isn’t angry, and gently scolds or lectures, I feel a whole bunch of different emotions. Mostly, I feel thankful that this good, kind, loving man takes such good care of me. That he dedicates his life to watching out for me, for making sure I’m taken care of, but also is willing to teach me, and help me be a better person.

I had a gym class to get to, and then dinner, and later my little ones needed to be tucked into bed. Jason and I finally had some alone time together, and I needed him last night. I really did. I snuggled up on him and we talked, and I told him all the things that were on my mind. Finally, he said, “there’s a little girl who needs a spanking.” I got quiet and asked if he could hold me for another few minutes. He agreed and after a few moments he said, “Let’s get this over with.”

Why did he say that? Because Jason does not like punishing me. And I don’t like to be punished. Truth be told, he hates it.

He had me get over his lap, and he spanked me good, making sure to drive home the purpose behind his discipline. He asked a few questions, and I answered, and he spanked me. I got all teary while I took my spanking. Then we were done. I crawled up onto the bed, sniffling to myself, and he met me there. He held me, and then before I knew what was happening, he was doing some really, really nice things to me. Suffice it to say, by the time he tucked me into bed, I felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted. Jason and I believe when a spanking is over, it’s over, and anything deliciously intimate that happens after is part of whatever aftercare we need.

But he also “rewarded” me the way he did because he hates punishing me. He doesn’t like me to be sad. He doesn’t like causing me pain, and being punished is painful to me both physically and emotionally.

So why do we do it then? Because we both recognize that it’s better for us this way.

When Jason and I were fairly new to this, and he told me he hated punishing me, I felt awful. I felt guilty. I told him, “Well, you don’t need to do it then.” I don’t like putting him in a position to do something he doesn’t enjoy. He explained that, no, it wasn’t like that.

“Just because I don’t like it doesn’t mean I won’t do it,” he said. “It’s better for you that I do. And really, I don’t think it would be very healthy if I did enjoy punishing you. It’s better for us that I don’t.”

That confused me. I was disappointed, somehow, like it would’ve been better if Jason was eager to punish me. It took a while to work through my conflicting thoughts on this, and to understand where he was coming from. Years later now, I do understand it.

He disciplines me, consistently and firmly, because I thrive under his discipline. He does it because our relationship is founded on his being the leader, my dominant, and it’s foundational to our dynamic that I obey him. He disciplines me because a part of me needs that, craves the accountability, and not just sexy spanking but real discipline. I find it deeply erotic, and utterly appealing, and so does he.

Years ago, when someone asked how he went from not really wanting to discipline me to feeling this was best, he answered very simply. “I decided it was the most loving thing to do.” In short, he does not discipline me because he likes it. He disciplines me because he loves me.

Does he like spanking me? Sure, but not when it’s for punishment. He’s as erotically attracted to spanking me as I am to being spanked. I go over the knee, and the man’s turned on. It’s just the way we’re wired. But from his perspective as a dominant, disciplinary spankings are different. They usually make me cry. I feel badly when I’ve earned a punishment, and he feels badly he has to punish me. Frankly, it’s knowing that he dislikes punishing me that helps make it more corrective.

I got a spanking several years ago that I will never forget. At the end of the spanking he said, “I hate doing this to you,” and it was those words that I still remember years later that had a much more lasting effect on me than the long-forgotten sting of the paddle.

Now, I’m going to be honest here. Not a week goes when a submissive doesn’t write to me and say something to the effect, “this is hard.” 

You’re damn right it’s hard. Submitting my will to someone else – even someone I positively adore – is one of the hardest things I’ve ever chosen to do. But it’s very, very rare that one of you writes to me and says, “It’s hard for him to do this.”
Why is that? I think we honestly overlook the fact that this is hard for them, too.

Unless a dominant is a sadist (and many are not), chances are, he dislikes administering punishment. Like Jason, he’ll often do what it takes because he loves you, not because he likes it. And some frankly won’t do it, because it’s just too difficult, for so many reasons. They simply cannot reconcile their pasts, histories of abuse, or reconcile an imbalance of power with their own beliefs in equality.

But there are many who do embrace those roles, and if you’re someone who has agreed to submit to a dominant? Today, I’m going to challenge you to keep in mind that they have needs, too.

Dominants have tremendous responsibility. In many cases, they are the leaders of the homes. They oversee the spiritual, emotional, and physical needs of not just you, but their children, and yes, I’m addressing those of you still growing into these roles. Dominants carry the weight of their obligations every day. It’s not always pleasant being the one in charge. Sometimes they have to make hard decisions.

Submissives, honor those decisions. Understand that if he’s a man of integrity, then the difficult decisions are not easy for him to make. He needs your support, not your criticism. Years ago, I asked Jason if I could go on a trip. I wanted to, badly, but Jason decided it was not in my family’s best interest for me to go. I remember him telling me, sorrowfully, that the answer was no. It’s a vivid memory in my mind. “I don’t want to tell you no,” he said. “But I have to.” I was sad to hear his answer, but so very grateful he has what it takes to lead so well. I did my best to honor his decision. To accept it, knowing it was not an easy one for him to make.

Honor him as father of your children. Fathers don’t parent like mothers do, and sometimes that makes for disagreements. Believe me, I’ve been there. But again, if he’s a man of integrity, trust him to parent well. Don’t make it harder for him than it needs to be. By all means, communicate openly and honestly, but do it respectfully.
Honor him as the man who watches out for you. Maybe his dedication to his job takes him away from you sometimes. Try not to get angry with him for working hard. Be the woman he wants to come home to at the end of the day. Make your home a sanctuary for him. 

Serve him. I miss Jason when he’s not here. He has several evening obligations these days, and I do wish he was home. Heck, I never like to see him leave the house. I’d be a happy girl if he never had to. But I am happy to see him pursuing his own interests, and I want to encourage him in that. The man is so very good to me. It’s the least I can do to pay him the same kindness.

In short, this all works better if you both work hard at meeting the needs of the other. When we are wrapped up in our own needs for dominance, it’s easy to forget that he has needs, too. Strong, dominant men are often not going to admit that they have needs. Part of being the one in charge means that he puts on a brave front, and the man gets stuff done.

If this resonates with you, and maybe you’re looking for some ideas, I’d urge you to take a look at the series I wrote on Cultivating Submission.

Above all, never underestimate the power of a well-timed “thank you.” It’s so very simple.

Thank you for taking care of me.

Thank you for tucking me in, daddy.

Thank you for holding me accountable.

Thank you for being such a good father to our kids.

Thank you for working so hard.

And the thank you’s don’t always have to be of spoken out loud, if you catch my drift. Now it’s time for me to end this post, because I need to bring my man a cup of coffee. It’s the least I can do. 😉