Tuesday, October 29, 2013

When He Comes Home

I have so many things to share, so much to write. I have half a dozen drafts of posts, and notes here and there, my mind swirling with things to write. It's how I think, how I process, how I understand, by writing. So, stay tuned. More to come. ;) 

Today, I want to write about what I experienced yesterday. It's pretty much what I experience every Monday. 

I am grateful Jason has a fairly traditional 9-5 job. Weekends are ours, and I love that they are. We are busy people. We have a house teeming with people, day and night. We have to work hard at being alone, and having our down  time, but we always manage to connect on the weekends. I get spanked (woohoo!), we watch tv together, and I revel in the little things like taking a car ride, or Sunday morning brunch, or going on a date. 

But then Monday morning comes around. I get spanked every single Monday morning. Jason makes it a priority. He is going back to work, and I have to say good-bye to him. The responsibility is all mine again -- the kids, the house, the weight of the work I'm doing, managing it all. So every single Monday morning, that man o' mine pulls me over his lap and gives me a good, hard spanking and goes over my rules. I need it. It helps so much for me to stay focused during the day. 

Those of us who crave being spanked know the feeling of when we sit, or stand, and we feel those twinges, that physical reminder of having been taken in hand...how it feels. The residual pain of a role affirmation spanking brings me solace. It takes me back to being over his lap, where I am vulnerable but safe. Back to where I am all his, and deeply loved. 

I got a sound paddling yesterday morning -- just exactly what I needed -- and throughout the day I would periodically reflect on being taken over his knee. It made me smile to myself. As I went about the tasks at hand, I would wonder how he was doing, who he was with, and as I busied myself with what I need to do, the pain of missing him became just a steady, but distant ache. 

I washed the laundry, and cleaned my house, and cooked dinner. I read to my children, and fed them, and played games with them. I took them outside and enjoyed the beautiful fall day. But always, ever present at the back of my mind, is my husband. His warm smile. The silly, funny things he does that make me laugh. How I feel when he takes my hand. That quiet, steady voice that chides me and says, "Be a good girl" before he leaves for the day. 

I am a busy person, and so is he, but the reality is, I am not myself until I am back with him. It's like...I do what I need to do, but I'm holding back. I put on my game face. But it's just not...right...until he's home again. 

I send him messages throughout the day. He wants me to. I'm supposed to check in with him and let him know how things are going, and I love that he wants this from me. Yesterday, I was in a silly mood, so I sent him a few teasing messages and his responses had me laughing out loud and smiling to myself. We sparred back and forth. When I see his name in my inbox, my heart races a bit faster. When I hear the phone ring and see his number, I put everything else down and answer. I love hearing his voice. It makes me happy. 

So finally, the day draws to an end. The house is tidied, the kids are situated, dinner is simmering on the stove. I glance at the clock and find myself counting down the minutes until he's home. The second I see him, I smile. I love to watch him. 

Sometimes I sit next to him while he reads, and I try to read myself, but really, I'm just admiring him. I try to do it discreetly, but sometimes I just can't help myself and I have to reach out and touch him. I run my finger down his jaw, outlining the scruff of his beard. I reach out and touch his strong, powerful hands. And yes, sometimes my heart skips a beat when my eyes come to rest on the belt around his waist. And when he turns to me and smiles, his blue eyes crinkling at me, and his hand reaches out and draws me close to him, I smile.

So yesterday, he came home. And I was dying to connect with him. He asked me how my day was and I told him, and we chatted. I said, "So, you don't want to know about my rules?" and he said, with that stern voice, "Do you have something you need to tell me?" My heartbeat spiked and I shook my head. "No, no, I've been an angel today!" He smiled and said, "That's my good girl." 

We had a few minutes together, but he had to work. I knew he did. So I knew he wanted to have some down time before he worked, and I gave him his space. 

What I wanted to do was run to him. I wanted to kneel by him, and have him put his arms around me. And I did, a bit, but not as much as I wanted to. I wanted him to have his down time and not have to fuss about little ol' me. I sat by him, but didn't touch him, wanting him to recharge and get what he needed. I wanted him so badly. But I waited. 

Finally, he put his book down. He smiled at me and said, "I love you, baby girl. Put the kids to bed, then I want you back here with me." 

So I did. But I was exhausted. So I took my blanket and sat next to him on the couch, and napped while he worked. When he was done, he wanted to watch a tv show, so I followed him to the family room, put my head on his lap, and slept that way. It felt so nice. We didn't talk. I was so tired. But he would stroke my hair, and rub my back, and I just lay there, utterly content until he woke me and said quietly, "Time for bed, baby girl." 

I followed him to bed, and tucked in by his side as I do every night...content to be at his side, where I belong.

Friday, October 25, 2013

Why Do I want DD?

Bob from Thoughts on TTWD and I have been batting this topic around a bit lately and decided to do a collaborative posting on What Benefits a Couple Gets From DD. I'm giving the Tih perspective.

It's actually a topic that's been in the forefront of my thoughts, because of some recent discussions with others in the community. Some people I know enjoy the erotic appeal and stress relief of a spanking, but don't desire the disciplinary side. Some prefer discipline and don't enjoy the erotic spanking. I like both. And I've been spending a lot of time asking myself "why" lately. 

Why do I want to be disciplined? 

What do we gain from Domestic Discipline?

The truth is, if I'm really honest about it, I crave the discipline more than I crave the other spanking. However, the irony is, I dislike being disciplined. I love the certainty and dependability knowing my husband will spank me if I need it. But the actual act of being disciplined is not enjoyable. It typically hurts more than other spankings, and it's also emotionally difficult. I hate letting my husband down. I dislike knowing I've done something I shouldn't. Pleasing him is my favorite thing to do! But, I'm human. I mess up. 

This week he punished me several times. Three, to be exact. I haven't been disciplined this often in ages, but I lost my focus, and needed to be brought back to center. And his discipline helps me to do that. 

I love the accountability. The rules we have in place are there for my own safety and well-being, as well as the health of my marriage and family. It makes me feel cared for, that he will spank me if I do something that endangers my safety. I am a mom, and we moms often put ourselves last. It's kind of in our nature at times, to take care of others before ourselves. My husband won't let me do that. Just this morning I wasn't allowed out of bed at the ungodly hour I usually rise, because he said I needed the rest and my exhaustion was catching up to me. I would've gotten up much earlier, but I knew I'd be spanked. So I reluctantly stayed in bed a good hour and a half later than I wanted to. And sure enough, I felt more well-rested when I woke up. From Jason's perspective, he likes being able to have a tangible way of helping me meet my goals, stay safe, and stay calm.

I love the closeness. It's hard work putting myself at his mercy. When he lectures me, and spanks me, then comforts me, I am brought back into him. There is nothing between us. No hard feelings, no anger, nothing left unsaid. I love having that closure after something has gone wrong. 

I love the communication. Just a week or two ago I was kneeling in front of Jason, and he and I were discussing an issue. 

"Have you noticed we talk so much more now?" He asked. I told him yes, I really did. We always talked before. We love just being with each other, teasing, debating current events or philosophy, joking and laughing. But that's not the difference. The difference is, we talk about us more. 

In his post, Bob talked about the erotic appeal of spanking. I will not deny that even punishment spankings satisfy an erotic need of mine -- in some ways, the act of discipline is even more erotic to me than any other kinds of spanking. The actual spanking itself is not sexy. I am never turned on after a punishment. But there's something about that total loss of control, and that fear of a punishment that heightens the experience. The waiting. Being at his mercy. Knowing he will not hurt me, and that I trust him. Feeling his strength. 

I haven't really shared my doubts with Jason lately, because I wasn't really sure where I stood. I wasn't even really sure why I was doubting, or questioning. 

I asked Jason recently, "If I wanted to withdraw my consent to DD, would you let me?" I dislike thinking I'm the only one that benefits from this. I want to know he's doing it because he wants to, not just because I've asked him to. I want it to be natural and organic for him.
But I wanted to know...did he see any benefit himself? 

"Yes," he said. "If you didn't want me to discipline you, I wouldn't anymore." He paused. "But I think you need it." 

That was all I needed to hear. 

I think you need it. 

It works for us. It brings us closer. We are happier. There is a natural give and take, meeting each other's needs, as I've said before. But it's true. He fulfills my need to be provided for, protected, and led. And I fill his need to provide for, protect, and lead. It works. It's harmonious. It's not perfect, but real life isn't perfect. 

It has brought us so much closer. We had a great marriage before DD, but now we're so much closer. We can't stand being separated from one another. If we go out to eat, he has me sit next to him. At church, he makes sure I am by his side. When we are driving, he holds my hand constantly. When he comes home from work, he calls me into him and we talk about our day. 

It's an inexplicable feeling of completing each other. 

Tuesday, October 22, 2013

Gentle Dominance

"What is it, baby girl?" he asks.

My head hung low, I kneel down in front of him and whisper my confession.

His hand is on my back, gently rubbing, and he runs his hand through my hair.

"I'm disappointed to hear that," he says softly. He asks me a few questions, and I know he's trying to get a feel for what really happened. Did I do it on purpose? Was it as bad as I said it was? Could someone really have gotten hurt?

No, it wasn't on purpose, but yes, it was as bad as I said it was.

He sighs.

"Spanking tonight, when the kids go to bed."

My heart sinks.

But I'm proud of him, too. He doesn't want to punish me. He much prefers to be lenient and merciful, but he knows when I need mercy and when I need a spanking.

And tonight, even I know I need a spanking.

It was an accident. But someone could've gotten seriously hurt, and rules are there for a reason.

I put my head on his chest and he strokes my hair. "I wish you didn't have to wait," he says softly. "I know how hard that is for you. But there's no way around it."

He's right. There isn't. We have no privacy. But I appreciate his concern.

I nod.

He knows how badly I feel. My face was buried in his lap when I whispered my confession.

I didn't want to tell him. I stood for a few minutes, after I realized my mistake. It had been a long time since I'd been punished. I didn't want to be punished. I stood alone, taking deep breaths, dreading having to tell him, and when I went in to him he smiled widely and put his arms out to me, and I almost lost my courage.

But I have to tell him. How can he trust me to be honest if I don't tell him? How can he help me if I don't tell him? How can I trust myself to him if I don't tell him?

Finally, the time comes. I'm dressed for bed, curled up in my corner of the bed, as I wait for him. I hear the implement drawer open, and my heartbeat accelerates, and he says, "Come on, now. Let's get this over with."

I drag myself over to him and wordlessly strip.

Sometimes he removes my clothes. I much prefer when he does. I see it as a very loving gesture. But sometimes he makes me do it and I obey him, a humbling acceptance of my punishment.

"Lay over my lap."

I lay myself across his lap. I'm so thankful he lets me do that tonight. I feel terrible, guilty, and so sorry for what I've done. I want to feel him when he spanks me. I can feel his thighs beneath me, and his hand, firm and steady, around my waist, while the other holds the dreaded implement.

"Why am I spanking you?" he asks softly. I tell him.

"Yes," he responds. "I know how badly you feel. And I know you'll never do this again."

"I won't," I murmur into the pillow. "I'm so sorry."

Without another word, the first swat lands, and it hurts like hell, and I yell into the pillow and try to move, but he holds me fast. 

An immediate flood of emotion hits me. It's so different than when he spanks me for stress relief, or to turn me on, or just because I need it. When he spanks me then, the first thing I feel is relief, like I can breathe easier. I can sigh into the pillow, even if it's a hard spanking. 

But it's not like that with punishment. I feel different things. I feel my guilt surface, and as he spanks me I'm reminded of my trust in him, and when he pauses and speaks gently to me, I feel grateful that he loves me enough to help make me a better person, to help us have closure on the mistakes I've made, to help us stay close with nothing in between us. 

These are all just the feelings I get, that I process through, that surge and flow as I'm disciplined. I don't think much more than He loves you and breathe and sometimes Oh God I hope he's almost done.

Swat after swat after swat he lands, and it hurts so badly, but it's what I need, and he knows it.

Finally, he's done. It's not the easiest I've ever had, but it's far from the worst. He puts the implement back in the drawer, and I can't relax yet, because I don't know if he's done, maybe reaching for another implement or going for his belt, so I ask him. "Are you done?"

"All done," he says softly, as his hand is on me, rubbing the sting away. "That stings, huh?"

I nod, and gulp, still across his lap, as my tears start flowing now. "Yes," I say in a shaky whisper. But we both know it's what I needed.

He's massaging me now, as he always does. I told him once that some people don't believe it massaging after a spanking, but he says he does. He wants to help the sting go away. He doesn't want me to bruise. And I love that he does, because it makes me feel cared for. Forgiven. He wouldn't be so tender with me, if he didn't love me.

It's his way. His gentle dominance. The stern, serious look he gives me, coupled with his calm, steady voice. The way he says quietly, "Don't speak to me that way," in the tone that must be obeyed, but never raises his voice to me. The way he puts a finger under my chin and makes me look in his eyes. The way he says firmly, "No. It isn't what's best for you, so my answer is no." The way he holds me after he spanks me, and tells me he loves me, and soothes me when I cry.

The way he tells me "I spank you because I love you."

Gentle Dominance.

He is dominant. There is no question. He spanks me when I need it. I've been hauled over his lap and paddled soundly for doing something dangerous or disobedient. I've been firmly lectured and strapped for defying him. Not only is he dominant, he can be strict and it's a good thing he is, because I can be heedless, and defiant, and selfish and stubborn. But I'm learning. He's helping me learn.

I've tried so many times to talk my way out of a punishment and he will not allow it. He knows I need it, and he knows it's for my own good, so he sticks by his guns.

But he tempers it. And I love that he does that for me.

It's the best of both worlds, really.

It's what I've wanted all along. The certainty and dependability of his leadership, and protection, and firm but loving correction, but always fair, always kind, always mindful of my emotions, and my fears, and my needs.

It's that perfect combination of stern and tender.

It's what makes me feel safe, and cherished, and loved.

Gentle Dominance.

Monday, October 21, 2013

The Sit Spot

Every once in a while, my husband comes across a new, more effective way of spanking me. 

For example, once he had me on my knees in the bed. Paddle in hand, he dipped his fingers in a glass of water, sprinkled my bare ass, rubbed it all around, and let me have it. Water and lotion can act like spanking magnifiers. Ooooouch. 

But recently, he managed to paddle me in that super sensitive spot, right at the very top of my thighs where my thighs meet my bottom. 

Holy crap!

I have a super high tolerance for pain, and can take a hard strapping or paddling while staying in place and letting out not much more than a whimper. 

But when that paddle hit that spot? I shrieked out loud into the pillow. Screamed! It hurt soooo badly! If a hard swat with the paddle on my bare ass is a six, that was a ten. 

I've gotten spanked there before. I've never been paddled there. 

Now, since he's discovered my weak spot, I've been paddled, spanked, strapped, and (gulp) whipped there, thank you, Sir Loopy Johnny.

He took immense satisfaction in seeing how effective his spanking was. He doesn't like to give wimpy spankings. He likes to know he's done a satisfactory job. He wants me sufficiently reddened, and thoroughly spanked. (Yeah, yeah, yeah, ok, you know I love it. Most of the time, I find this satisfying). 

Anyhow, let's just say he could tell he'd found his mark. 

He let me have it, again, and again, and again, until I could hardly take it anymore. When he was done, I was sweating, and panting, and thoroughly submissive. Later, when I went to sit down, it was excruciating trying to sit. A friend told me that is called the "sit spot." I've heard the term, but never knew exactly where that was.

Yup. Right about there.

"Hmmm," he mused later. "Seems like I might have been doing this wrong all along." 

Oh, dear. Oh my! 

I think I've discovered why the diaper position is so freaking effective.

"So the next time I get punished, you're going to spank me there, aren't you?" I asked. I knew the answer. 

He nodded soberly. "Yes," he said. 

Oh, dear. Oh my! 

"I'd better behave myself," I muttered. 

He nodded again. "Yes, you'd better. Now I know how to spank you more effectively, I will spank you there if you're naughty." 


Honestly? I like to be spanked, though I dislike being punished (a lot). The mere thought of a punishment spanking, which is hard, and long, and I have no control over, and being paddled on that sit spot, has me more than a little worried. 

This is likely a good thing (she reluctantly admits).

When tempted to say something snarky, I've found myself stopping in my tracks. When in the car, I've paid super close attention to how fast I'm driving. I'm intensely focused on speaking politely, and obeying my rules. 

I suppose this was his intent all along.

I have a few nicknames for him. Captain Safety (just teasing, sweetie, I swear!!). Super Dom. 

But I'm thinking maybe that doesn't cut it.

He who Shall be Obeyed. The Paddler. Slap Happy. Alpha Spanker. 

Suggestions, anyone?

Thursday, October 17, 2013

Best Spanking of My Life

So, you know when you discover something really good...like really good chocolate, or a fantastic book, or maybe a pair of shoes that just fits right? And you like it, and it makes you happy, but then you experience something even better? Like...the best chocolate you've ever had? The best book that moved you like no other? A pair of shoes created just for you, and you alone? 

Yeah. Well, I had that happen with a spanking. 


This is gonna be a sexy post. It's gonna be detailed. So if you don't like the sexy, juicy posts, you may wanna move along. 

If you do like them, hold onto your hats.

The other day, I was dying for a spanking. Dying! A series of circumstances had prevented it from happening, but Jason kept promising me he would fulfill. 

Finally, the kids went to sleep. I felt antsy, and anxious, and I was dying to go over his lap. I was so, so eager for that emotional release and deep connection I get from being spanked by my husband. He shut and locked the door, and told me to come over to him. I was already dressed, ahem, minimally. 

I draped myself over his lap and breathed a sigh of relief. I love putting myself in this submissive position. He rubs my lower back or gently runs his hand over my bottom, and that act alone causes the tension to leave my body and I begin to relax. 

He got out an implement that is like a rubber paddle, and he warmed me up. It stung. The bite is deep, and lasting, and he applied it steadily. A few times he snapped it against my sit spot, and that really hit home! But he was only just beginning. 

Next, he took out the loopy johnny. He calls it the whip! It makes this scary-sexy whoosh sound when he swings it, and he's gotten very good at using it. He flicks it, and it causes a stinging, burning sensation like a whip, but doesn't do any damage. It leaves a deep, satisfying burn for a good deal of time (and he finds it very useful for when he needs to punish me silently. Yay.)

"I'm gonna whip your ass," he said. "Ask me. Beg me." 

I was writhing in pain and trying to get away -- the loopy johnny is no wimpy implement -- "I can't talk right nooooooow!" I protested, but the bite of the loopy johnny on my ass made me re-think my refusal. If I could say "I can't talk right now," surely I could manage to eek out "please whip me." So. I did. 

"Whip my ass, please," I begged.

He did. ;)

After a nice go 'round with the loopy johnny, I heard him open the implement drawer again. I felt the bristles against my warm skin, and knew the brush was coming next. I don't particularly like the brush. It hurts badly and is perhaps one of our most severe implements. Half an inch thick of solid, dense wood, in a thick clear varnish, that thing is damn near unbreakable. He lets that fall, and I squirm and yelp. He gave me a good spanking with the brush, but I was so desperate for a spanking, it felt really good. I was already really warmed up at this point, and I can take long and hard after I've been warmed up. Stroke after stroke of the brush fell on my bottom, and I squirmed and yelped a bit, but stayed in position over his lap. 

He put the brush down, and began to massage me. My bottom was on fire, my heart racing, and I felt the stress of the day manifest in tears of relief. My throat was clogged with tears, as he put the brush down and pulled the paddle out of the drawer. 

The first smack of the paddle made my tears begin to flow. Over, and over, and over again the paddle hit home. It is the one implement we have that manages to be both stingy and thuddy -- it bites deeply, but stings because it is fairly light. The pain is bearable, and incredibly cathartic. It's not as hard as the brush, but covers a lot of area. It feels real. It feels serious, but it's not excruciating. Swat after swat from the paddle, all over, my sit spot, the tops of my thighs, each side of my bottom, even the upper part close to my lower back. He paused, massaged me, then spanked me all over again. 

I felt submitted to him. I felt relief. My tears had stopped, and the pain of the spanking was beginning to push me. A few times I kicked my feet and said "Oooowwww" as he continued to lay down swat, after swat, after swat with the wooden paddle.

Finally, he put the paddle down. "I don't want to bruise you," he said. But I didn't care. I didn't want him to stop. It was like I was on the verge of climax and he said we were done. But I was enjoying it so much -- it was so perfectly, so exactly what I needed -- that I begged him not to stop. "Please, please don't stop, not yet," I pleaded.

He laid me on the bed, and I heard him moving around the room. 

"I know what you need," he said evenly. I crossed my ankles and squeezed my eyes shut. 

I heard the clink of his belt buckle and I bit my lip in anticipation. I love being spanked by his belt, and I knew then that if he spanked me with his belt, he'd have used every single implement we own. No leaf unturned. And I also knew the belt would bring me to where I wanted to be. 

He came up behind me, commanding me to lie still, and the first stripe of the belt landed. I howled -- I was already so sore -- but I didn't want him to stop, did everything I could to lie there and take it because I needed to be strapped. 

The belt cut deeply, swat after stinging swat, burning. I could feel every single stroke. I yelled into the bedspread, trying to muffle my cries, as the belt felt against my lower thighs, my bottom, every single area covered in a bearable, searing, but absolutely perfect pain. It was slow enough I could breathe between strokes. I was so warmed up from the other implements, I could really take it. It just felt good

I felt myself beginning to detach -- I felt the warm, heady glow of endorphins pushing me into deep submission, that sweet, relaxing place I long to be. My safe spot. My happy place. I could still feel every cut of the belt. It still hurt. But I was in a different place. I'm pretty sure I was actually on the verge of subspace

He put the belt down. I was throbbing, aching, but so relaxed. I was so deeply satisfied. I smiled, and murmured, and when he sat down, I buried my head in his lap. We spent some more time together -- some deeply connecting, intimate time together -- and he tucked me in. I sighed, smiling, so completely at peace and relaxed. I felt the warm blanket tucked around me, my bottom aching under the covers, and I knew that I'd just gotten the best spanking of my life

I didn't even know I'd been holding out for it. I didn't know how amazing it could be. 

I slept like a baby. 

I woke up happy, and smiling, and even a full day after the spanking I kept giggling and smiling every time I saw him, dropping on my knees and wrapping my arms around him. He'd kiss me and I kept saying things like, "That was soooo goood." 

He seemed pretty satisfied with the results. ;)

Saturday, October 12, 2013


It was really a very, very trying day. 

We were rushed in the morning, and had to skip our check-in. Our check-in is where we drink our coffee, go through our day, and if I need a spanking, he spanks me. It's mostly used for stress relief and role affirmation, and it helps get my day started right. 

I'd had a painful, hurtful, very difficult issue with a friend I've known for a very long time. I was grateful for my husband's help in this...he was truly amazing...and I was grateful to be able to follow his lead in this as well, because it really was the best thing when all was said and done. But it hurt. It's a long story, but it's not an exaggeration to say I was grieving the loss of a friendship. 

I had several incredibly challenging episodes with some of my children. I have a lotta children, and I love them dearly, but some days are so much harder than others. This was one of those days. 

I was exhausted. I'd tried to make it to the gym -- I need that regular outlet -- and circumstances arose that cut my trip to the gym far too short. 

I couldn't wait to see Jason. I needed him. 

It bothers me sometimes that I need him. I don't want to need him. But sometimes, I just need my husband to make it all better. 

We share a car, so I picked him up. I told him just a bit about my day I was holding it together, but on the verge of tears. He put his hand out to me and said in that calm, steady voice he uses, "I can see how not having a check-in this morning has affected you. You need it." 

I felt tears spring to my eyes and a lump in my throat, because he was so right, and I was grateful that he recognized that. I nodded. 

At one point he made a comment about the time, and I felt myself growing defensive. "But it's --" I began in protest and he immediately turned to me sternly, with a frown, pointed an index finger at me and said, "Do not argue with me." I felt that familiar reaction I get when he calmly and firmly Doms me. I stopped in my tracks, a feeling of calm and security coming to me, and a bit of arousal, too. I can't explain it. But that's how I react. 

I nodded, and may have whispered, "Yes, sir," but I obeyed him. He talked calmly about what he'd begun discussing, and I had a momentary feeling of gratefulness that this is our dynamic...that we don't argue...that I don't spiral out of control...that he leads me. 

We got home and I did what I had to do, made dinner, changed diapers. And I felt my tension rising with every single screech from a child, or spilled drink. I snapped at the dinner table, and as we cleared the dishes, Jason said my name sharply. I came to him, and he took my hand and gave me our signal of a warning. Four hand squeezes that translate into "Be a good girl." This is my signal that says, "Stop now, or you're getting a spanking." I didn't want a punishment spanking. I stopped. 

I went about my evening, but my tension grew. By the time the kids were in bed and I dragged my completely and utterly exhausted self downstairs to tidy up the house, I was ready to have a fit. I wanted to break things. I wanted to kick and scream. I was so tired, so overwhelmed, so completely and totally done

I didn't want Jason to think I was angry with him, or bratting, so I took the trash out for him. I can laugh about it now, but I couldn't think of how else to show him I was trying really hard to keep it together (but still on the verge of snapping). 

I came upstairs. I was on edge. I decided I'd just stomp my way into the shower and maybe crash around there a bit. Maybe I'd slam a few things when he wasn't looking (so I wouldn't get a spanking for being a brat) because I needed to let go of my pent-up frustrations, that awful feeling that had crawled into me and was consuming me. I wanted to go to bed and sleep forever, but I was too wound up to do that yet. I hoped a shower would help. 

He intercepted me in our bedroom. I yanked my hand away from his and tried so hard not to snap at him. "Please let me go," I bit out. "I want to take a shower." 

Now this is where the D/S part of our relationship comes in. He took me firmly by the hair -- not harshly, or cruelly, but I could not get away. He does this sometimes. He will take some of my hair, pull to tip my head back, and tell me to behave. It's like a switch -- it immediately and thoroughly gets my attention, no question, as effectively as a sharp swat. He took me by the hair and propelled me to the bed. He sat down. 

"This ends now," he said. "Go lock the door." 

I felt relief, and dread. I went to lock the door. As I slid the lock in place, I heard him undo his belt buckle and draw it through the loops. My stomach twisted. As much as I like that he spanks me, and as much as I know I need it, it still hurts. He is very, very good at spanking! So I can't help but feel a bit nervous when I know I'm getting a spanking. 

"I...I don't want to get in trouble...I'm not...I'm trying hard not to be a brat..." I began as I tiptoed over to him. The next thing I knew, his hand was on my wrist, he pulled, I was over his lap and my pants were down around my ankles. 

"You need a spanking," he began. And he went to town. Sharp, stinging swats with the end of his belt. I yelped a bit, and squirmed, as the belt came down again and again on one side. Now my brat had reached epic proportions. 

"Will you stop spanking me on one side?"  I yelled. Yeah, real smart, yell at the guy with the belt in his hand. I kicked my feet a bit in protest and smacked the bed. 

Swat! Swat! Swat! 

"I'd be careful with how I spoke if I were you," he said. 

Swat! Swat! Swat! 

"You are hardly in the position to be telling me what to do." 

And the spanking continued. I felt my anger begin to leave, as I could do nothing but submit myself to the spanking. Swat after swat fell on my bare bottom, hard, stinging swats with his belt. I began to quiet. My kicking stopped, and all I could do was lay over his lap as he spanked me. He paused between strokes, talking softly and rubbing, then finally he gently pushed me onto the bed and stood. I cringed. I knew he was going to spank me harder, standing up so he could get in a better position to strap me. 

My arms were tucked under my belly, my eyes squeezed shut, my ankles crossed as he finished spanking me. 

Then he was done. And so was I. I lay on the bed, submitted. No more brat. No more anger. No more frustration. But the anger in my chest had drawn up all my frustration, and I felt tears begin to come. 

He put his belt down. "I'm not going back downstairs tonight," he began. "You need to get some sleep, and you need me up here with you. Why don't you go take your shower now," he began. 

And I started to cry. 

He came to me, picked me up, and held me. I put my head on his lap and wept, as he wiped my tears and rubbed my back. 

"Is there something else you need to tell me?" he asked softly. "Did something else happen today? Do you need to talk about it?" 

I shook my head and cried, telling him all about my day and how I was sad, and stressed, and so much had come at me all at once. 

"I understand," he said, as he held me. After only a few minutes, my tears quieted, as he held me. 

"I didn't try to be a brat," I said. "I even took the trash out so you'd see I wasn't mad at you and I was trying to be good!" I wasn't upset that he'd spanked me. I needed it, and I knew it, and I had to let all the frustration go. I just wanted him to know I wasn't trying to push him. 

He grinned at me. I was kneeling in front of him, my arms resting on his knees. 

"Babe, you're...kinda like this," he said, and he swept his hand in the air like he was drawing a bell, a sweeping motion like a mountain. "You have ups and downs. And sometimes, you need to be brought back to the center." 

He took both hands and centered them in front of him, palm to palm but not touching, like two book ends. 

"You weren't in trouble. I didn't punish you. But I needed to stop you before you went off the rails. You needed to be centered again." 

I nodded. He was right. I did. 

"Do you feel better now?" he asked with a smile. I did. I really, truly did. My anger and frustration and hurt were gone, and even though my bottom was more than a little sore, I was pretty damn happy. 

I smiled back. "I do," I said. "I really do. You're right. I just needed to be centered." 

I needed to be understood. I needed to feel that I was important to him. I needed to be able to let it all go, and rest in his strength. And he gave all that to me. 

I think perhaps there is no better way to put it. Centered. Right where I belong.

Wednesday, October 9, 2013

Learning to Trust Him

Recently, I got in trouble. 

I broke a rule my husband is very, very serious about enforcing. However, I didn't do it on purpose. I didn't pay attention to what I should have, and in my distraction, I missed a major detail that would've prevented my error. This doesn't matter. If I'd been paying attention as he's asked me to, I wouldn't have made this mistake. 

When I realized my mistake, my stomach dropped. I wondered if I had, indeed, made the mistake I'd been specifically told not to make. I didn't want to be punished unnecessarily -- not just because I dislike being punished, but because I know he doesn't like punishing me, either. Was it an honest mistake? I won't be punished for an honest mistake. 

So I took the time to go back and check. And there, right in front of me, was the notice I missed that would've prevented my error. There was no question. I was in trouble. I had disobeyed him again. 

I went throughout the day pretty down. I'd tried so hard to do what I was supposed to. I'd kept my patience in check, gone to the gym, completed every single one of my tasks I'd been asked to do. I e-mailed a check-in with him, cleaned the house, and treated my kids with patience. I was attentive to their needs, conscious of my time online and on my phone, and when I went to pick him up, I was careful to put my phone away, and drive the speed limit. 

I'd accepted the fact that I was to be punished, and that it would be bad. I knew I deserved it. But I was angry with myself for having failed yet again. 

I picked up Jason with a smile on my face, and he smiled back. He still makes my heart pound. He is so handsome, and I love the way his blue eyes smile at me. When he puts his arm around me, or smiles at me, I feel shy and girly. My heartbeat accelerates when he calls me on the phone and I hear his voice. I smile to myself when I get a text message and his name pops up. In short, I positively adore him. 

This is why I hate having to confess to him. I wanted it over as soon as possible. I didn't want to see that smile fade from his face. I didn't want to hear his voice grow stern, and I cringed to hear him say a word of rebuke. Before I told him, I repeated in my mind all the sweet, encouraging, affirming things he's said to me over the past few months. 

"I'm so proud of how far you've come." 

"This hasn't been easy, but there is no question this lifestyle works for you. I can see how much things have changed." 

"You need me to do this for you." 

"I'm going to give you a spanking, because I love you."

"You will learn not to do this, and I'm going to teach you." 

"When you submit to me, I feel that you love me." 

So I was calmer by the time I picked him up, but still riddled with guilt. I expected we'd have a bit of small talk, but to my surprise, within seconds of settling into the car, he began going down my list of rules. 

The one I'd broken was the very first one. He paused in his list, and said, "Wait. Did you just say you did break that rule?"

My stomach dropped. Time to get it over with. 

Out it came, the whole story, no details spared. That I'd broken a rule, and should've been paying attention, that it wasn't on purpose but I knew I was culpable because I went back and checked. 

He smiled at me. His face lit up the way it does when he's proud of me. 

"You went back and checked?" 

I nodded. "Yes. I didn't want to be punished for no reason, and I didn't want you to have to punish me." 

"But sweetie, don't you see how fantastic that is? It shows you're changing. You're conscious of what you're doing. I'm so proud of you." 

I felt the warm and fuzzies. 


"Yes. In fact, I think you need more of a hug than a spanking." 

Now, readers, you might think I'm crazy, but I was fairly riddled with guilt. Consumed with it. And as much as I was extremely grateful he was not angry with me, I didn't want him to let it slide, either. 

"But I feel guilty, honey," I said. "I do want a hug. But I also think I need a spanking." I cringed saying that. I love it when he spanks me, but I do hate being punished. 

"Oh, you will get a spanking," he promised. "But I don't want you afraid, thinking it will be terrible. You do need a spanking, but it's not going to be as bad as it could've been." 

We talked some more, and I felt so much better. Later in the evening, he hugged me and whispered, "Don't worry. I haven't forgotten about you. We will have time later, and then we'll get this over with." 

How much do I love him? 

Finally, the time came. He got out the paddle and instructed me to come over to him. I had that familiar knot of guilt on my chest, and I was looking forward to letting that go, and having the emotional release of being punished and forgiven. He told me to lie over his lap, and lectured, but just a bit. 

He paddled me. It wasn't an easy spanking, but it was far from harsh. After several dozen good swats with the paddle, he put it down and massaged me, talking gently and calmly. I waited for the next round. 

But he said he was done.

For the first time in a very, very long time, I felt unsettled, like I hadn't gotten enough. I'd beaten myself up all day, and he was done, but I wasn't. I still felt guilty. I still wanted that emotional release. I felt a lump in my throat, and I wanted that lump to dissolve, and I wasn't there. 

I told him all this. 

"No," he said softly. "We're not going there. It's up to me how and when you're punished, and I'm telling you now, you don't deserve any more than you just got. You've done so well. You beat yourself up too much. I am so proud of the progress you've made, that I won't punish you harshly for this." 

I saw his point, and nodded. Now the lump began to dissolve, and I cried, though I wasn't weeping. Just softly crying, with my head on his chest, while he stroked my hair and spoke quietly to me. 

He talked about how proud he was. He talked about all the improvements I've made, how happy he is with how much I trust him. As he spoke, I felt that residual pent-up frustration dissolving, and I felt happy in his arms. 

"Please don't let me go yet," I whispered. 

"No, of course not," he replied. "I will hold you as long as you need. I know you need this right now." 

I just soaked him up. Just let myself feel his strength, and his calm. It felt so nice. 

"You trust me?" he asked quietly. I nodded. Yes. I really and truly did. He spanks me soundly when I need it, no question. He doesn't let me get away with the slightest attitude, or smart comment, or heedless mistake. But he is also merciful, and kind. He encourages me. He teaches me with gentle but honest instruction, encouraging me to be good, and kind, and patient, as he is. Neither of us is perfect. But I love that he is willing to patiently teach me to be a better person.

"I do," I said. 

"You're not going to go on about how I didn't do this the right way, or get all upset because I didn't spank you more?" 

I shook my head. "No, I won't," I said. I love him. I trust him. I felt the calm peace of having submitted myself to him. 

"I'm so proud of you," he said. "I needed to see that you trusted me." 

I nodded. 

"Go get my belt." 

I was shocked. "What did you say?" I asked. 

"I said, go get my belt." 

A bit subdued and little apprehensive, I obeyed. I stood, shuffled over to where his belt lay, and picked it up. I returned to him, and handed him his belt. 

"You like the sound of that jingle, don't you?" he asked with a smile. 

I nodded. "Yes, sir," I whispered. Although the sound of his belt can also make me nervous, I have mixed emotions about it. It makes me feel like I belong to him. That I'm his. There's an intimacy in being spanked with his belt that is like nothing else. He wears it on his waist. It's his, and so am I. It's also an implement that can be extremely harsh, so the way he spanks me with it helps me trust him even more.

"Over my lap, please," he instructed, as he wrapped his belt around his hand, leaving a strap. 

I obeyed, and mixed feelings washed over me. A bit of apprehension that I was going to be spanked for round two. But eagerness to feel completely submitted to him, completely forgiven. 

"I want you to know that I heard you," he said, "And I want you to feel better about this. But I needed to see that you trusted me first." 

"Yes, sir," I whispered. 

He strapped me. It was pretty hard, though tolerable, but it was exactly, exactly what I needed. I felt myself relaxing. I felt forgiven, and cleansed, and submitted to him. 

He put his belt down, and drew me into him. 

"All better now, baby girl?" he asked quietly. "Do you have that feeling you need?" 

I smiled, and nodded, and wrapped my arms around his waist. 

He put his hands on my chin and lifted my face, kissing me. One thing led to another. We made love, and it was beautiful. 

As he held me after, he laughed. 

"Two spankings and hot sex," he chuckled. "I hope you're satisfied, girl, cuz that's about as much as I have to give you." 

I laughed softly, my head tucked under his chin, as he wrapped his arms around me. 

What more could I ask for? I know this post is gushy. I know some readers dislike the gushy, but I have to share the good with the bad, and this moment was so good.

I recently posted about the high highs, and low lows. Dear readers, moments like this are the highs. There is really and truly nothing like it.

"It was perfect," I said. "You're so good to me, and I love you. Thank you." 

To my dear husband -- I know you'll read this. 

I trust you. Thank you for teaching me to trust you.

Saturday, October 5, 2013

In which, JGirl goes insane and throws the paddle.

Things have been too serious around here lately. I had to share a kinda funny story.

I struggle with being submissive. It doesn't come naturally to me. Although I am happier in my submissive place, sometimes it takes a bit to get me there.

Truth is, if I were perfectly submissive, I wouldn't find myself draped over my husband's knee so much. I even have moments of temporary insanity. 

There was the time when I yanked the belt out of his hand. I was kneeling in front of him, and he'd just finished strapping me for copping an attitude. I said something else, which earned me another round with the belt, and when he reached for his belt, I went to yank it out of his hand in an involuntary effort of self-protection! He's bigger and stronger. He won. 

Then there was the time I said to him, in an effort to be terribly honest, "I really just don't feel like obeying you right now." It was true. I didn't. But I'm not quite sure what I could've said which would've landed me OTK quicker than that. Phew! He said, "We're going to settle this right now before you get yourself in worse trouble," and in about 2.3 seconds I had a reckoning with the paddle. 

This past weekend, I was in a mood. Right before a check-in spanking, I was feeling pretty fiesty. He told me to do something and I tried to be good, but said something like, "I don't know, I'm doing my best but feel pretty bratty at the moment." Well. He discovered how incredibly effective the paddle on my "sit spot" was, and when he was done, he said, "Now do you still feel bratty?" My hands on my screaming hot rear end, I said, "Nooooooooo!" and he laughed. 

Ha, ha. 

So, it was time for a check-in spanking. That's what we call them. It's similar to what some would call a maintenance. Anyhow, I went over the lap, and he got his (now favorite implement), the paddle. He spanked me, and we were both actually in very good moods. It wasn't a sexy spanking, but it was far from serious. 

He let me have it with the paddle. He gave me a few swats on my sit spot, and I hollered out like a woman possessed, and he said, "Ooohhh, I like that sound." Grrrr. 

He did this thing where he reared up like he was going to spank me to Kingdom Come, and I braced myself for the swat, then he gave me a little love pat. Then he did this thing where he pretended he was going to spank me on one side, ("Hmmm, how about a nice spank on this cheek?") and then WHACK! he'd smack me on the other. 

At one point I said, "Okay, I think I've had enough!" Yeah, that doesn't really matter. I've tried this before and it never works. He said, "Oh yeah?" Whack! Whack! Whack! "Who says when you've had enough?!" Whack! Whack! Whack! 

"Yoooouuuuu doooooooooo!" 

Yep. And the spanking continued. 

He put the paddle down, and I thought he was done. I started to relax, when he said, "Nah. I think you need one good crack on each cheek, just for good measure." 

Whack! Whack! He spanked me hard!

Now I was starting to get a little miffed. "What, my butt wasn't red enough for you?" 

He laughed. "Sure is now. Lovely shade of red you've got there."

Finally. Finally! He was done. He had the paddle next to him  and had me go on my knees. But the big ol' meanie wasn't done. We were talking about a few things and as we talked, he kept leaning over in a quick-as-lightning move and spanking my ass with the paddle again! I was starting to get a bit annoyed. 

"Do you mind?" I asked. 

"Who's the one in charge here, baby girl?" 


So finally after he did this about half a dozen times, I leaned over and pretended like I was hugging him. Wrapped my arms around his waist. I snatched the paddle off the bed and whipped it as hard as I could across the room, out of his reach. 

I knew in the moment this would likely not end up well for my bottom, but I was in a fiesty mood and figured the temporary reprieve would be worth it. It's important to note, I wasn't being punished. He was just flexing his manliness. If I'd done this in the middle of a punishment spanking, I'd likely be typing this post while laying flat on my belly!

He laughed out loud. He pinned me down over his knee, said "You think I need that thing to spank you?" and let loose a volley of sharp, stinging swats with his hand. 

I was hollering, and laughing, and squirming and shrieking and trying to get away, but it was no use. He's stronger. 

At this point, he lit a fire under me. The spanking led to other things, and overall, it was what I'd call an immensely satisfying morning. 

Wednesday, October 2, 2013


Since this is the month of Oktoberfest, some friends have come up with a new spanking version of Oktoberfest. They are calling it Spanktoberfest.

The way to play the game is that the Hoh has to spank his or her Tih at least once a day until the end of the month.

You're invited to post your achievement, then drop Bob a line at bobhoh9@gmail.com and tell him how many spankings you've gotten.

He will post the stats once a week until the end of the month. 

My husband's game, so I'm in. Let the festivities begin!