I'm sitting on a sore bottom.
Why am I sitting on a sore bottom?
It wasn't a sexy spanking. It wasn't a maintenance or stress relief, and those kinds of spankings make up the huge majority of the spankings I get (thankfully). Nope. It was a good, old-fashioned disciplinary spanking. Honestly, it was the worst I've ever had.
How do I feel about this? I feel a wide range of emotions. I feel resolved to make sure I will never do anything like what I did again. I feel completely convicted to make sure I avoid being punished, and make sure the trips over my husband's knee are just the "other" kinds of spanking. I really, truly, much prefer that. We both do.
I'm content that my husband loves me. I love that he has 100%, completely embraced his role as Hoh. I love that he is tender, and kind, and sweet, but firm.
We've come a long way. Why do I want to blog about this? Because I have heard many asking about DD, what it feels like to be punished, and what it feels like to want to be. I also benefit personally from reflecting on the journey Jason and I go through together.
So I thought it would be worth writing about the range of emotions that go with being disciplined.
What I did to deserve the spanking really doesn't matter. I will say this. It was unintentional, and I did it because I act too quickly sometimes (like the damn stove incident). But I was warned ahead of time that if it happened again, I'd be soundly spanked. I knew that when I realized my error. But what I did threatened the lives of one of my children (like when I forgot to buckle my baby's car seat, or when I forgot to put the gate up and she fell down the stairs).Thank God I caught my mistake in time and no one was injured.
I'm mostly a responsible, mature adult, but sometimes I slip up. :(
I spent the better part of the day beating myself up over my mistake, and dreading having to tell my husband.
Part of me dreaded the spanking I was going to get. I knew he was serious about it, and that it would be no walk in the park. He does not give me little love pats when I'm disciplined. But part of me hoped he'd just warn me, and I'd get another chance not to do it again. I'm only human.
But I mostly dreaded telling him because I knew I let him down. I know he trusts me to be a good, patient, loving mother, and there is nothing that gets me in more trouble than when I do something (intentionally or not) that threatens our family's safety. In fact, the three hardest spankings I've ever gotten have been over that very issue.
And here's the kicker. Part of me hoped he would spank me.
Why? Because I felt like I deserved it. I was absolutely riddled with guilt. I wanted that guilt washed away. I wanted to know Jason forgave me. I wanted motivation to pay attention and do what's right.
I wanted to be able to forgive myself.
I went through the day with my upcoming confession looming over me, until finally it was time for him to come home from work. At first, I made small talk, trying to be cheerful, so as not to ruin the end of his day. I don't like to dump everything on him the minute he is done with work. But he knows me through and through, and he can read me like a book.
“You're holding something back,” he said. “Do you have something you need to tell me?” His voice took on that stern edge that makes my heart beat faster.
My heart sank but at the same time I was grateful I could finally get it off my chest.
I told him, all at once, in a rush of words that were just above a whisper.
“I can't hear you,” he said. “Speak up.”
So I had to repeat myself. Oh, dear.
“I'm so glad you caught that mistake, honey,” he said. “I'm so glad no one was injured. But I told you what would happen if you did that again.”
“Yes,” I whispered, my hope for just a warning dwindling.
He reached for my hand and squeezed it. “I forgive you, sweetie. But you're getting a spanking. And I'm going to spank you hard for this. I want to make sure this never happens again.”
Again, mixed feelings, mixed emotions...thankfulness that my husband takes our family's safety seriously. A deep feeling of being cared for and loved by his firm but gentle manner. Even a bit of arousal at his stern demeanor and the promise of a spanking.
Serious dread of the upcoming punishment.
We went home, and he made sure our kids were occupied so we could have privacy. He knows I hate waiting, and he said he'd get it over with as soon as possible. I busied myself getting dinner ready. Then I heard him call my name and my stomach dropped to my feet.
I walked upstairs to him literally dragging my feet. When I got to our room, I saw two implements – the dreaded belt and that awful brush – laid out on the bed. My stomach dropped even further. When I get a serious spanking, he uses more than one implement. I can count on one hand the amount of times this has happened.
Then he did something different. He put his hand on my chin and lifted my face to his, and kissed me. Then he put his arms around me and held me, hugged me for a long time. I knew he was reassuring me. I knew he didn't want to punish me. He took me by the hand and undressed me himself.
“Okay, honey. Let's get this over with,” he said as he let me go. He motioned for me to lie over the bed. He knows I prefer to be over his lap, and the huge majority of the time, that is what he does. But he wanted to make an impression. He was not fooling around. And I knew I was really in for it.
“Why are you getting a spanking?” he asked, as is his custom. I told him, and got choked up repeating it.
"That's right," he said. "That's why I'm spanking you, and I want to make sure this doesn't happen again."
“I don't want anyone to be hurt because of me,” I said, my voice trembling because I was on the verge of tears. “I'd feel so awful about it.”
“I know, honey. I would, too. I'm going to warm you up good now.”
He did this because he was getting ready to spank the hell out of me, and I knew it. But at this point I wanted that spanking so badly. I was consumed with guilt. I wanted the cleansing only a spanking gives me.
He warmed me up, first with his hand, then his belt, a dozen or so gentle strokes. Then I really got the belt, over and over and over again. It was hard to take. It stung, and it stung deeply. I dug my feet in the floor and clenched the bedspread. He paused between sets, rubbing me and talking to me, then there was nothing but silence and the intermittent whoosh of the belt and me trying so hard to be quiet and trying so hard not to move. He stopped, used his hand a few times, put his hand on my back to steady me, then put the belt down and got the brush.
He swung the brush hard, all over, my upper thighs, peppering me with swat after swat, varying in intensity, sometimes in the same place over and over and over again until I could hardly stand the pain anymore. A light tap with the heavy brush makes me catch my breath and squirm. Now he swung it hard. I knew I'd feel this for days. I knew I'd hardly be able to sit. I felt the tears clog my eyes and a lump in my throat, but I can't cry when I'm spanked. I just get through it. I was so far beyond my pain tolerance I could do nothing but take it, submit to the spanking, trust myself to him.
When he spanks me that hard (which is not often), I go into a different place mentally. I sink into my submission. I have no choice. I can't get away. I can't stop it. I can only submit, take it, put myself in his hands.
It was harsh, thorough, and by far the worst I've ever gotten.
And then he was done.
“You're all done, baby girl,” he said. “It's all over.” He sat next to me on the bed while I just laid there, not wanting to move or get up. He massaged me and talked to me, gentle soothing words to tell me he loved me, that I was forgiven, and that he knew I wouldn't do it again. I needed that aftercare badly. He lifted me up and I put my head in his lap, and finally the tears came. He held me as I wept.
“I'm so sorry,” I said.
“I know. But it's all over now,” he said, and again he put his finger under my chin and lifted my face to his. His blue eyes looked intently into mine.“And I know you're never, ever going to do anything like that again. Right?”
I nodded. “I won't! I promise. Never, ever again.”
He kissed the top of my head and put his arms around me. “I love you so much,” he whispered.
“I know you do,” I whispered back. “I love you, too. Thank you for taking care of us. I didn't want to be punished but I wanted that spanking really badly. I felt so guilty!”
“I understand,” he said. And I know he really and truly does.
This is why being his Submissive makes me feel loved. Because he knows I want him to be my Dominant. He knows it's what I need, and he does it because he loves me. I feel like we complete each other, a give and take, daily walking side by side, a peaceful, harmonious fulfilling and meeting each other's needs, him giving me the loving, firm, steadfast protection I crave and me fulfilling his need to love, care for, and protect.
We had business to tend to, kids to feed, so he kissed me and sent me on my way. It was hard to even stand. I was sore. It hurt to walk, and I literally sat on a cushioned chair when I had to sit.
Before we went to bed, he asked me how I felt.
“Sore,” I responded. I was terribly sore. I ached with the pain of the spanking.
He put his arm around me. “Poor girl,” he murmured gently. “I'm so sorry you're sore.” Then his voice grew hard again. “But I'm not sorry I spanked you. You know how seriously I take our family's safety. And you know if it ever happens again, it will be even worse.”
“Yes, Jason,” I whispered, again consumed with the feeling of being loved. His tenderness and kindness, balanced with steadfast dependability.
He rolled me over on my belly and massaged me, all over my legs and bottom, that tender area he'd spanked so severely just hours before, until I fell asleep.
I've had people tell me his "gentle" approach wouldn't work for them. I'm not so sure I'd say his approach his gentle (my bottom agrees). But I need his reassurance. It works for us.
It is often said that DD is sometimes romanticized. Maybe I'm guilty as charged. But the reality is, when DD is embraced, and both parties fully understand the needs of the other, when love is at the heart of the relationship? It is romantic. It is a deeply emotional, highly personal experience. I, as the submissive partner feel vulnerable, raw, exposed. And when my loving husband meets my needs, I feel incredibly loved. He takes my vulnerability and cherishes it. He never abuses his authority. And in so doing, he draws me closer to him.
Do I over-romanticize it? Maybe a bit.
But do I feel loved? Is it romantic? No doubt.