Saturday, October 12, 2013

Centered.

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.



9 comments:

  1. Love this post!! "Centered" is a perfect word for it. Your post put into words what I haven't been able to explain or even understand myself.

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    1. Thank you, Sassy. I'm glad you could relate!

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  2. I feel so sorry for your husband.

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    1. You would not feel sorry for any of us if u truly understood the love and caring and connect we get from this life. As for jason he is a strong and loving man and has agreed to give jasongirl this life. Yes it can be hard on our dons but you know they get the same loving and caring feeling out of it as well. This life is so much better anyone can very know unless u live if. So plz do not say hurtful things to this wounder writer and wife and friend.

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  3. I love how u show all points of your life up and downs

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  4. OH Jason Girl, this sounds like me on certain days, how beautiful of Jason to bring you back to center, to love you so much that he wanted to help stop you before you did something you'd regret. I am so happy for you. :)

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  5. Yes, I so needed it, and I am very thankful he recognized that. Nice to "see" you. Thanks for stopping by!

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