Thursday, July 17, 2014

Taking Me On

It's been a nice day, but I'm tired. I went to bed late, and was up early, and the time has gotten away from me. I always like to plan a nice dinner and dessert on Sunday night, so I go into the kitchen, hoping I can get everything done just in the nick of time. 

Everything is going smoothly. Food is baking, the sauce is bubbling on the stove, one of my daughters is helping me prepare dessert. I lift the salt shaker and go to season the sauce, and the entire top breaks, the contents of the newly-filled salt shaker dumping into my sauce. I scramble, trying to scoop it out, but it's hopeless. With a sigh, I take the double batch that was just about ready to be served, and I dump it out. There was a time when I would've sworn and slammed things. But I don't. Jason is sitting in the other room, so I step into the room and give him a pouty look. 

"What's the matter, babe?" he asks. I tell him. 

He looks at me sympathetically. "It's okay. Just make another batch. All you need is some olive oil, and tomatoes, and --" 

"I know how to do it," I interrupt in the calmest voice I can muster. "I just did it. Now I just need to do it again, and dinner will be late." 

He narrows his eyes, warning me, but all he says is, "Okay, then. Go for it. And don't worry about the time." 

I know I'm on thin ice there. I'm not supposed to interrupt him, but he gave me a little leeway there. Time to reign it in. 

I go back and finish dinner, and serve it up. I'm still on edge. I tell him dinner is ready and ask for help, but he's busy. I feel my frustration mounting again, but I will myself to just stay calm, just submit, just be patient. 

Dinner is a success, though, and I manage to stay calm even though I'm still feeling pretty flustered. I go to serve dessert, a lovely crumble my daughter helped me make, and I see that even though we followed the directions, it's nowhere near done. I sigh. Time for plan B. We get some ice cream out of the freezer, and I serve it up, simmering and muttering under my breath. 

I start clearing the table. Someone makes a rude comment to me, and I feel my resolve snap. I'm alone in the kitchen. I take a fork and whip it into the sink, shattering a glass. 

Oh man

Did he see? No. If he saw, I'm toast, he'll be marching me upstairs and over his knee in 2.3 seconds flat.

But I feel guilty. Keep it in? I clean it up as quietly as I can, berating myself for being a brat, but I'm riddled with guilt. I know I need a spanking. And there's more than that. I need him to set me to rights again, clear my head, sort me out. 

I go to him and he welcomes me over, lifting his arm and I settle in. 

I tell him what I did. 

He looks somewhat amused. "You whipped a fork into the sink and broke a glass?" 

"Yes," I say, in a little voice. 

"You really need a spanking," he says, and I nod. I know I do. 

This is where I start getting frustrated with myself. I think things like,

Am I ever going to learn? 

How am I ever going to be the girl he wants me to be? 

How can he still have patience with me, doing bratty things like this, after all this time?

"Listen," he says. "I think a good spanking is in order. But you need to let this go now. You got frustrated tonight. I got frustrated earlier. It happens. You need to look at the progress you've made." 

I raise my eyebrows to him. "Progress?"

He laughs, "Baby, a year ago you would've been swearing up a storm and justifying your behavior. Now look at you. So you had a fit and threw a fork, and that's not acceptable. I don't want you doing that, and you know it. But you will learn." 

I nod. I will learn, because he teaches me. I will learn, because it's a matter of picking myself up and trying all over again.

As I clean up the kitchen, I think to myself, how is it that he keeps taming me? The title of this blog really rings true. Little by little, bit by bit, he's taming me. I'm learning, every day, what he expects of me. Friday night we had a long talk about some of his expectations, and I've been mulling them over ever since. 

You would think, with an Hoh as stern and consistent as Jason, that I would've learned more by now. Sometimes I ask myself how it can be that I haven't, but he doesn't allow me to get into that frame of mind, so I make myself keep going, keep trying, keep picking myself up and starting over again. 

He waits until the kids are in bed, and I am ready for bed. He hasn't told me I need to go to bed yet, but I am tired. I ask him if he's coming. I know he's going to spank me, and I'm tired. He tells me no, he will be up in an hour. 

"Please," I beg him. I hate waiting on a punishment. And there are things I want to talk to him about. 

"No," he says, sterner this time. "I'll be up in an hour." 

And believe it or not, I do another bratty thing again.

I cross my arms, feeling frustrated and pent up and so ready to be sorted out. "Well I'm not going to bed until you come up then." 

Wrong answer, girl. 

He sits up, takes my chin so my eyes are level with his, and says, "Oh yes you are. You are not staying up with me with an attitude like that. March yourself upstairs, get ready for bed, and wait for me." 

Deflated, frustrated, and put in my place, I mumble a "yes, sir," and shuffle upstairs. 

Part of me is angry. Doesn't he know I need him? But wait, it's not all about me. 

But part of me is grateful. I am so thankful he doesn't allow me to be a brat. I know when he comes up he's going to make sure I've learned my lesson, and at this point, I want that behind us. I want to be good again. I want a clean slate. The best I can do now, while I wait for him, is obey. 

I do as he says, and I wait for him. 

He comes upstairs. 

"We have a little matter to attend to," he says. I nod. I know. Boy do I know. 

He made a new strap and it's sitting in his implement drawer. It's a serious implement and I haven't been punished with it yet. I got a good taste of it for a sexy spanking though, and it's serious stuff. I can hardly breathe, for fear he will choose the strap tonight. 

"This is how we're going to do this," he says, going to the implement drawer. He takes out the brush. He knows I've been wondering if the strap will come out, as he says, "I'm going to take it easier on you tonight. I'm getting in bed, and you're lying across my lap. I'm going to spank you, and we will put this behind us." 

I nod. Honestly, I am so ready to put this behind us. I know the spanking is going to hurt, but I also know how badly I need it tonight. 

This is where the mixed feelings come in. Punishment is hard to take. I don't enjoy it. But sometimes, I need it. Sometimes I need to feel him sort me out, set my head on straight again. Sometimes I want to know he cares, that how I behave and what I do are important to him. Sometimes I want to be motivated to do better, because I want so badly to please him. Sometimes I don't want leniency, I want his sternness. 

Somehow, it's the serious side of things that I crave at times. 

When he punishes me, he's not just taking me on. He's not just taming the brat. He's taking it all on. My worries. My fears. My insecurities, and my frustrations. My guilt. 

"Come here," he says sternly. And this is where the process begins. He commands, and I feel that little bit of frustration go away. 

Zip. Gonzo. One layer gone. 

Just do what he says.

"Strip," he says. He wants all of me bare, so I lie completely and utterly vulnerable over his lap. Skin to skin, I feel him beneath me, his strength beginning to overcome me. 

Zip. Another layer gone. 

You are his. 

"Why are you getting a spanking?" he asks, and I whisper the reasons. I was a brat. I misbehaved. I gave him an attitude. 

"This isn't acceptable," he lectures. "You're not allowed to behave that way. Are you going to be a good girl this week?" he asks. 

"Yes, sir," I say, tears coming to my eyes. I want to be. I want to be his good girl so badly. 

Zip. Another layer gone.

He loves you.

He spanks me. I bury my face in the blanket on the bed, muffling my cries, as the sharp bite of the brush finds it's target. Swat after swat he lands. 

He lectures while he spanks, and tears come to my eyes. I want to please him. I want to do better. I will do better. 

It hurts, and I'm squirming, but he holds me fast and continues to spank me until I lay over his lap, completely surrendered. Calm. Centered. Submissive. 

Tonight, it wasn't all about teaching me a lesson. Tonight, there was more at play. 

Tonight I needed him. 

I'm calm now. I've told him before, "I don't know how you can continue to still be so patient with me." 

He laughed. "I can take you, baby," he said. 

And he's right. He can take me. 

Hell, he can tame me. 

He has tamed me.

I may never reach that place where I want to be. I may never reach that place where he wants me to be. 

But I'll be damned if I won't give it everything I've got.

Tuesday, July 8, 2014

A Good Ten

I'm in the kitchen preparing dinner. Without thinking, I do something incredibly dangerous and stupid. It's kind of embarrassing, but you can use your imagination. I thought I was being careful but....welllll...

"What are you doing?" he bellows. Jason scares the hell out of me. He is not a bellower, so I just about jump out of my skin. 

"What?" I say, giving him the deer-in-the-headlights stare. With that tone of voice and that look he's giving me, I know if we were alone right now, he'd probably be tipping me over his knee right then and there.

"Don't you ever let me see you do that again! Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? I mean never ever ever again!" 

I nod, chastened and embarrassed and humbled. I thought I was being careful. I, um, do it all the time. Okay, okay. 

So I make myself stop this habit pronto. 

But, about a week later, I catch myself doing it again. Shoot. Uh-oh.  I feel guilty. 

We have a "fess up" rule. He always checks in with me in the evening, so we are snuggling on the couch and he asks me if I've been a good girl. 

" Caught myself doing it again," I say sheepishly. I tell him what happened. He gives me the raised eyebrow look. I try to be scrupulously honest with him, even if it's embarrassing. 

"You did?" 

"Yes! But I, um, caught myself right away! And I stopped!" I look at him, mustering up all the cuteness I possibly can. "That counts for something, right?" I ask in a teeny tiny voice. 

He smiles and squeezes his arm around my shoulder. "It does," he admits with a narrowed-eye smile. Then he sobers. "But, I think a good ten should remind you not to do it again." I blink. 

"Just as a reminder," he says.

I nod. He raises his eyes again. 

"Yes, sir," I say quietly. He smiles his approval.

I do love that he's so overprotective protective. 

But at bedtime, I am utterly, completely bone-tired. The kids are asleep and I crawl into bed and completely zonk out, dead to the world, with my book falling by my side. 

He comes to bed and wakes me gently. 

"Time to get ready for bed, baby girl," he whispers. I stumble out of bed, barely able to keep my eyes open, but I obey him. He leads me to the bathroom, practically holding me I'm so exhausted.

"I was in trouble," I mumble. "Right?" I can't even open my eyes completely. 

He is smiling at me, like he wants to pick me up and stick me in his pocket. 

"You're such a good girl," he says softly, reaching over and tucking my hair behind my ear. "Just a little bit of trouble," he murmurs. He pinches his thumb and index finger together. "Just a tiny bit." 

"Yes, sir," I whisper, my words barely coherent. I'm so tired I feel like I'm sleep walking, as I go back to our bedroom.

He comes in. There's an unmistakable look of pride on his face. I'm not sure why. His look is so tender. I'm so tired, and I don't know exactly why he's being so gentle, so patient, and why he is looking at me that way. 

I feel somehow that I am absolutely precious to him. He comes over to my side of the bed where I'm laying down. 

"You're such a good girl," he whispers. "Do you know that? You make me so proud. Just look at how hard you're trying. My good girl," he says. 

He is standing next to me and he rolls me over to my side, lifts his hand and swat! He gives me the lightest, gentlest swat possible.

"One," he says, as he proceeds to deliver and count out ten tiny swats.

"See? Just a little trouble," he chuckles, tucking the blanket over me. He puts his hand on my head, as is his custom, wishing me sweet dreams. 

"Go to sleep, baby. Such a good girl," he says, so softly it's as if he's talking to himself.

I remember a time when I would've been confused about the gentle spanking. But now I just roll over on my side, determined to continue to do my very best to be his good girl.

Thursday, July 3, 2014

Consistently Consistent

A few weeks ago, we had an issue here. 

Jason said something off-hand that hurt. He didn't mean to, but he accidentally touched a raw place of mine I was struggling with. He didn't know how I would react. Honestly, I didn't know how I would react. I quietly excused myself from the table, and a short while later, when he called my name, I went to him. He knew I was upset, but he was confused. He asked me why I was upset, and before I knew what was happening, the floodgates broke loose. I sat next to him on the couch, talking passionately, explaining why what he said hurt so badly, tears streaming down my face. He was completely blindsided, but could tell I was working myself up, so he stopped me as my voice began to raise in temper and said, "Go upstairs and calm yourself down." 

I obeyed him right away, went upstairs, cried some more and calmed down. I don't like feeling angry at him. I don't like how I feel when I am frustrated, and hurt. He is not the type to ever intentionally hurt me, so I also felt guilty. 

He is honestly very strict, so I expected when he came upstairs, he would spank me for getting so worked up and not controlling myself better. I'm expected to speak respectfully and with self-control. I thought I had been disrespectful, and my temper had gotten the better of me.

He came upstairs and immediately instructed me to kneel. I did. He explained how he didn't mean to hurt me, and that he understood why what he said was hurtful. He apologized. Then he said, "I am not spanking you for this. I was the reason you were upset. You didn't speak disrespectfully to me. You didn't disobey me. You came right upstairs when I told you to, so there is no need for me to discipline you." 

I was grateful he was being so understanding. I was also grateful I wasn't going to be punished. I don't like being punished. But my emotions were so bottled up, I remembered what it felt like back when I would question his discipline. I remember how badly I would crave his discipline, and how upset I would get when he would let things slide. 

But then I also remembered how he used to tell me, "If we do this, we do this my way." It didn't mean he didn't listen to me, or value my input. He always did. It meant that whether or not I would be disciplined wasn't up to me. And I was easily able to let it go, and put it behind us. 

He wasn't being inconsistent. 

He was being merciful. 

And isn't that his right to exercise as my Dom?

Once I accepted that mercy wasn't inconsistency, never again did I question whether or not I would be disciplined. There are times when I am disciplined and I don't agree. But I accept that he is the Hoh, and I listen to his reasoning, and try my very hardest to make sure I know why he disciplined me so that I don't do it again. I have always come to understand his point of view. There are times when I expect to be disciplined, and I'm not. But I am grateful he is merciful, and consider myself lucky that I got another chance to do it right. 

This is why I consider him to be exceptionally consistent. 

Consistency doesn't mean I am spanked for every little thing I do. It doesn't even mean I am spanked every time for the same thing. 

That's not what consistency is. It means he exercises his right to discipline when and how he sees fit. And he's the one in charge here. 

But I do think it's extremely important to note why consistency is vitally important in a D/S dynamic. Over and over and over again, in chats and forums and blogs, you hear Tih who are letdown by their husband's leniency. 


There is nothing that makes us feel more protected, cared for, and loved, than the certainty of a firm but loving hand. Those of us who crave this dynamic are wired that way. 

I'd like to explain another scenario we recently had here to illustrate my point. The second scenario did not, shall we say, end the same way my first scenario did. 

We have a rule here that I'm not allowed to speed. I used to drive like an absolute maniac, but those days are long gone. In the beginning, I would only be disciplined for intentionally speeding. If I caught myself speeding and slowed down, I wouldn't be punished. But that's not the rule anymore. Now, the expectation is that if I catch myself speeding, I need to confess, and I will be punished. 

Let's just's kinda of a really hard rule for me, and I'm really not "there" yet. Mostly I've made a habit of driving cautiously, but when I get distracted, at times I lose my focus and catch myself speeding.

Recently, I was on a long trip without him, visiting some family. I made the trip there just fine, obeyed the traffic laws, my phone rules, everything. But while I was there, I got some disturbing news. I got into a discussion that brought back some was an unexpectedly emotionally intense afternoon. On the way home, my mind was elsewhere. I was terribly distracted. 

I caught myself speeding three times. 

Jason wasn't home when I got home. My stomach was in knots. I hate confessing and prefer to have it over as soon as possible. I was saddened knowing I'd disappointed him. I knew without a doubt he would spank me.

He came home, and I told him I had to talk to him. He gave me a kiss, said it was time to put kids to bed, but that we would talk as soon as we had time alone. 

When he called me to him, I went in, knelt by him, and told him, "I caught myself speeding three times on the way home. I'm not trying to get out of being punished, but I wanted to explain what happened." 

He nodded. "Tell me what happened." 

So I explained the situation, what I had heard when I was up there, and why I was so distracted driving home. During my explanation, he was completely empathetic, asked about certain things that happened, and told me he was sorry about the news I got and the afternoon I had.

Then he stopped talking and looked meditative. 

"What are you thinking?" I asked him quietly. He looked to me, and very gently put his hand under my chin."I think I need to spank you, because you broke a rule, and a safety one at that. But I also think that given the circumstances, I'm not going to punish you severely." 

I nodded, and buried my head in his lap. 

He was exercising consistency.  And it made me feel loved. 

I didn't look forward to being disciplined. Even though I do like to be spanked (for other reasons), the emotional impact of being disciplined makes it very unpleasant. Plus, he really makes sure punishment spankings count. 

It's actually pretty rare that he metes out discipline with gentle understanding the way he did that night. When the time came for him to discipline me, the word "gentle" doesn't exactly come to mind -- he made his point alright, and I did, in fact, catch myself speeding the following week and he did, in fact, spank me soundly for it. 

But I consented to this lifestyle for a reason. It was far deeper than merely an erotic attraction. If  that's all there was to it, we never would've gone beyond sexy spanking in bed. It's more than just a game. My obedience to him, and his leadership, are things we both work on constantly. And though I dislike being punished, it cannot be denied that the punishment aspect of a d/s relationship is one of the many things that make it work. 

And this is why consistency is so important. It shows me that he takes his role, and mine, seriously. 

When he disciplines me for doing something unsafe, I know he wants me to take care of myself, because he loves me. When he spanks me for losing my patience, I know he's teaching me to be a better person. When he punishes me for speaking rudely to him, I know he does so because he values harmony in our relationship. When he swats my rear for a self-deprecating remark, I know he wants me to be gentle with myself. 

It takes great strength to allow yourself to live this dynamic. When you willingly choose either role -- whether you are the one in authority, or you are the one relinquishing control -- you choose vulnerability. The choice to be transparent and vulnerable takes great courage, because you run the risk of being hurt. 

So even though being punished is certainly unpleasant -- it is, after all, meant to deter -- a consistent adherence to the expectations is crucial. With consistency, the submissive knows the trust she has given is cherished. She knows her efforts are not in vain. With consistency, the Dom understands that he has been given tremendous responsibility. It is with consistency that the Dom grows confident in his role.

When Jason takes the time to instruct me, I know the values he and I hold true mean something. When he disciplines me I know he does so because he firmly believes it is for my own good. It has become clear, as we took the plunge and incorporated d/s into our relationship at a deeper level, how well this dynamic works for the two of us. There is peace, and harmony. We still have disagreements. We still make mistakes. But problems are solved rapidly. We have both grown to trust each other more. We've both become more in tune to the needs of the other. 

So even though punishment is largely unpleasant, it's a facet of our dynamic that makes this work. When I willingly lay myself over his lap to be disciplined, it shows him that I trust him. I have the strength to submit, and he has the strength to exercise self control and fairness when meting out discipline. I feel that our relationship, our family, our values are important to him. 

But most of all? I feel like I am important to him. 

Although I am only speaking from personal experience here, I have attempted to draw from the thoughts and feelings of others in the community as well while elaborating on the importance of consistency. I feel I've barely scratched the surface, so I would love to hear from readers as well. 

What are your thoughts on consistency? What have been your own experiences, struggles, and conclusions? 

Thursday, June 26, 2014

One Year

Dear Readers, 

I realized recently that this little blog of ours has been up and running now for just over a year. It caused me to reflect back on the past year, how far we've come in so short a time. The struggles, the victories, how Jason and I have come to understand one another. It caused me to give thanks for the people I've met, and friends I have made. 

Writing about how we do things has, at times, been challenging. Sometimes, the challenge has been searching deep within myself for a complete understanding of how I'm feeling, how he feels, and sometimes, I feel I've only barely grasped the finer pieces of how it all fits together, as day by day we make this our own. 

Sometimes, especially as we faced serious challenges and our dynamic intensified, the challenge was taking this area of my life in which I am most vulnerable, and taking that vulnerability a step further, taking that risk and putting ourselves out there. It's hard to explain how that feels at times. It's like building something that is precious and dear to you, like an artist may feel about a work of art, and taking that risk to share it with others. You risk ridicule. You risk criticism. You risk being misunderstood. But I am so glad I took that risk. 

It's been so amazing getting to know some of you. I've enjoyed making friends, and learning about how others do things. 

It takes me longer to write things now, because as we progress, it's harder to put things into words. I often draft a post and take a week or so to fine-tune and edit. But this is not farewell. I have several posts drafted I plan on publishing, but the way things are going, it may take me a month or so! ;)

It's been amazing sharing this all with Jason. He reads this blog, and at times has put his own contributions in. I've loved being able to convey to him in writing things that somehow fall short when I try to put it in words. Things like thank you and this means so much to me, just don't convey how I truly feel, how he fulfills a desire of mine deep within me so beautifully, and so perfectly. 

But there is one thing I need to say to all of you, readers. One of the most beautiful aspects of blogging has been the feedback I've gotten from all of you. Yes, it's nice to hear the kind, and encouraging comments you all leave from time to time. But that's not what I'm referring to. 

What I love is hearing you tell me how you are trying hard at your own dynamics. How you're taking long, hard looks at yourselves and taking that risk, going down that road of self discovery. How you're falling short at times, but you're picking yourself up and trying again. 

You are courageous. You are humble. You love deeply. 

I cannot tell you how inspiring it is to hear from all of you, some of who have been married for decades and still had the courage to begin this journey. Some of you have tried and failed, and you're giving it a go again. Some of you are afraid, but willing to take that risk. Some of you have been badly hurt, but you've taken your challenges as opportunities to learn and grow. 

So I applaud you. I want to encourage you. 

Make this your own. There is no one way to do things. You will fall. You will risk being hurt. At times, things can be confusing. You may be frustrated or discouraged, but keep on going. Keep giving deeply from within yourself. 

My hope and prayer is that all of you find, as Jason and I have, that this is much more challenging than you ever thought it would be, but that it so much more beautiful than you ever imagined. 

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

Thank you

I snuggle up under his arm. 

"May I talk with you?"

"Of course," he says. "What's up?" 

And I spill. I tell him what's on my mind. 

"I just...have been thinking about how you hold me accountable for things, and how it just means a real lot to me. I love that you're not just my lover, and my friend, but that you're my teacher, too. You've helped me learn, and grow, and I don't know if I will ever be able to explain just how much that means to me." 

I am thinking of how he's helped me be more patient. He's taught me not to raise my voice, and to give others the benefit of the doubt. He's taught me how to have more temperance in my thoughts and actions. He's shown me, with his generous, forgiving nature, how to love others. 

He smiles and hugs me close. 

"I love you," he says. "And we are in this together." 

I marvel at that. He's told me it's not just about helping me grow but him, too. With every expectation he sets for me, he holds himself to an even higher standard, the two of us, learning together, helping each other along the way, challenging ourselves, facing our weaknesses and doing what it takes to overcome them. Step by step, day by day, two people making our way in this world side by side. 

Then he chuckles. 

"What's so funny?" 

"The way you were talking there, I thought you were going to say you think you don't need this anymore." 

I laugh, but part of me is a little...nervous? I hate the idea of not having this anymore. It means so much to me. It means so much to both of us. 

"Not happening, babe," I say. "I can't imagine not having this anymore." 

I smile. "And anyway, what would you say if I said I didn't want this anymore?" 

He narrows his eyes and gives me that look that I adore, the stern smirk that makes my heart threaten to leap out of my chest. "I would pull you over my lap and give you a spanking." 

I laugh out loud. "Of course you would. And the next time I mouthed off, you wouldn't be able to help yourself. Your twitchy palm would take over and I'd be over your lap before you even knew what you were doing." 

"Of course," he says. 

The next thing you know, he's flipping me over and pinning me against his side. 


I'm laughing, pushing against him, trying to get away, but it's no use. I'm at the mercy of his vice-like grips and paddle hands. 

Swat! Swat! Swat!

After I'm sufficiently put in my place, both of us laughing, me groaning a bit, he kisses me and says, "I love you, baby girl." 

I lift up on my elbow and lean in, kissing him. His hand is on the back of my neck, my hand flat on his chest, as we kiss goodnight. He is everything to me. I feel tears clog my throat and I swallow hard. 

"I love you, too," I whisper. "Thank you."