I feel like I'm falling, and I want him to catch me.
"I feel a bit...unsure. You know, a little stressed," I say, and he nods and rubs my back.
"I know. It'll be okay, babe," he says, about one particular thing that's bothering me. I lay my head on his chest and he strokes my hair.
I tell him all that I have to do, and all that I have planned, and I feel the weight of everything on my shoulders. There is one thing I'm worried about, then there is one thing that is exciting but nerve-wracking, and one thing I've almost completed but haven't fully done yet, that must be done. Not to mention the every day taking care of things that running this house entails is wearying at times.
"Want your coffee?" I ask, and he grins.
I smile. I get up and get his coffee. Nearly every morning I bring his coffee up for our morning check-in.
I come up and hand it to him. He is sitting on the side of the bed. After a bit, he puts the coffee down on the end table and pats his lap.
"What?" I ask.
"Over my lap," he says.
I stand in front of him but don't obey. Not yet. "I don't think I need a spanking," I say. I'm not trying to be rude, just telling him how I feel.
He smiles and pats his lap again. "Yes, you do. Come on, now. You'll feel better," he says. Then his voice lowers and the smile fades. He is serious now. "Over my lap," he repeats, this time more insistent.
I'm not opposed to the idea, really, and the reality is, I'm left with little choice. I either trust him, do what he says, and put myself in his hands, or I disobey him. So I position myself over his lap and lay my head on my arms on the bed.
He starts spanking me with his hand, a warm up. He's talking as he spanks me, telling me I'll feel better, to let it go and relax, and I instantly feel myself relaxing. It's not a hard spanking. I'm not in trouble. It's him taking control, and that weight is lifting off my shoulders. He's joking now, making some wisecracks, and I'm giggling. Then his voice lowers, and he pauses. I feel him reach across me, open the drawer next to our bed, and I know he's going for an implement. I catch my breath, as I both dread and anticipate it. I know it will hurt, but I also know it will push me, push me into that submissive place where I am comfortable and happier, fully submitted to him.
He gets the brush and starts spanking me again. But he's not spanking me too hard. Just enough that I can really feel it, just enough that I can really sink down, down into that place that I need to be, that happy submissive place that being over his lap takes me. The brush is sharp, the sting deep, but he's not punishing me. It's not like that.
I kick my feet up after a particularly hard swat. He chuckles.
"I love those cute little feet kicking up," he says. Then he speaks firmly and that edge comes into his voice. "When is this spanking over?"
"When you say," I whisper.
"That's right," he murmurs, and gives me a few more sharp swats.
This is his way, his way of reminding me he's in charge. His way of protecting me, giving me what I need, because he knows how I crave him being in charge.
"It's over," he says, and he's lifting me up. I'm sinking into his arms, on my knees, my head in his lap. The weight has lifted. Ironically, I feel more confident, motivated, like a fog has been lifted and I can see more clearly.
I feel he's behind me. He's got me.
I'm his. All his. I belong to him, and there's no place I'd rather be than here, in his arms, fully trusting myself to the man that knows me through and through, who knows the working of my heart and the wandering of my mind, who knows the meaning of the slightest sigh or wistful glance, who knows when I need a hug, or a kiss, or a good, hard spanking.
Safe in the arms of the man who knows me so well...
... better than I know myself.