I hate how I feel when I lose my temper. I hate that feeling of helplessness and the terrible feeling of guilt I get when I've been rude to my husband.
One of the reasons I wanted DD was because I wanted him to help me overcome this.
It took some time...me communicating how I felt and asking for his help and him seeing the positive effects of discipline. And now, he never allows me to lose my temper or speak disrespectfully. Things are so much more peaceful, really.
Most of the time, a look or verbal warning gets the point across.
A few weeks ago, he chided me for something I'd done. I got defensive and began to protest.
"But I --" and he immediately skewered me with a look and interrupted me. "Do not argue with me. Is that understood?"
I felt immediate calm. The tone and the look put me in my submissive place, where I want to be. I feel safe, because he's in charge and I trust him. I closed my mouth and said, "Yes, sir." He explained his position, and because I hadn't been allowed to argue, I heard him out. And honestly? He was right.
Truth is, I love having a calm, firm husband who won't let me get away with my silly bratty attitude. He listens to me and always hears me out. He understand when I'm frustrated or overwhelmed. But a major fit isn't allowed.
But here's my dilemma. In my head I always thought how nice it would be to not be allowed to brat. To have that stern, commanding presence. That calming effect. And it is nice. However...that doesn't mean I don't have the temptation to brat. It doesn't mean I still don't get royally pissed off.
Last week, many things happened at once. I was very hormonal and on edge. I was overtired and grumpy. I came upstairs, and completely lost it.
I began by spouting off some angry things at my children. They got defensive, and Jason was waking up, and he started to tell me to stop it already. I ignored him. In the middle of my ranting, a glass of water fell on me and caused a huge messy disaster. I went kind of crazy.
I went into my room, getting ready for the day, and Jason grabbed my hand and said, "Stop this immediately." But I was too far gone.
I yanked my hand out from his and continued to rant and rave. I threw things and slammed things. I knew I was going to get a spanking but I didn't care. I was far too gone.
He told me to stop. He tried very hard to get me to. But I didn't. I couldn't.
Finally he stormed off to our bedroom door, shouted for my kids to go downstairs, slammed the door and locked it.
I should've been afraid at this point, but I was so pissed off.
He hauled me over to the bed and pushed me down so I was belly-down. I squeezed my eyes shut as I knew there was no turning back. He yanked down my pants and picked up his belt.
"You knew this is where this was going. And you know I'm not going to put up with this."
I buried my face in my hands. He started strapping me, hard.
Funny how quickly the brat left me.
I was crying my eyes out. I was so overwhelmed. So irritable.
He gave me a good, hard spanking, then held me as I cried. And the brat completely fled the building.
Why do I do this? I don't know. I try hard not to, but it happens.
And he's decided he's had it with me and my mouth.
Yesterday, I was supposed to get a "check in," what many would call a maintenance spanking. The afternoon wore on, and it was time. He was busy doing something, and I started looking for the cord to charge my phone with. It was nowhere to be found. I was kind of on edge.
"What did you do with it?" I asked. "I left it right here."
"Oh," he said, distracted. "I think I put it on your desk."
I stormed off to my room, my battery blinking, looking for that cord that wasn't there.
"It's not there!" I said, now my temper rising. "What did you do with it?"
Now I had his attention. He came up to me, grabbed a fistful of my hair, pulled me real close to him and said "Knock it off." I pursed my lips and fought the desire to stomp my foot.
"I'll find your cord. Stop being a brat," he warned. I crossed my arms and glared at him, but said nothing. I was trying to be good, really.
Finally, he found it, and handed it to me. He sat on the couch and looked calmly at me. He didn't glare. Didn't give me the look. Simply said, "Are you behaving now?" I nodded and said yes. He quietly instructed me to go upstairs for my check-in spanking. I obeyed.
I didn't know how badly I was in for it.
He came upstairs, and I expected him to sit and talk to me and put me over his lap for my spanking. He did not.
He picked up the large, wide leather strap that is new to us. It is several feet long, made of soft leather, and I love it for sexy spanking. He doubled it over and without saying a word to me, flipped me over, still fully clothed, and strapped me hard. I was shocked.
"Ow! What are you doing?"
Without another word, he turned me around, unbuttoned my jeans, and yanked them down. He put me on my belly.
Now I was getting worried.
I felt the strap land hard and he was spanking me in earnest.
"Owowowowowowow!!! What are you doing?" I screamed. It hurt like hell. I'd never gotten the strap for punishment before. It was awful!
He spanked me again and again, while I yelled and protested and told him to stop. I kicked my feet and smacked the bed. It hurt so badly.
"Get on your knees, chest down, ass in the air!" he commanded. Instinctively, I obeyed and I literally trembled as I knew what he was going to do.
"Ow! Oh please, honey, stop!! Ow ow ow ow ow! Ouch! No, no, no, stop!" I begged and pleaded. I was so taken aback, not expecting such a hard, no-nonsense strapping. He didn't listen to a thing I said, and continued to spank me.
I'd been completely taken off guard.
"I am sick and tired of this," he said as he continued to spank me. "Every single Saturday you brat out, and I have had it. No more. No more am I letting you continue like this."
As he spanked me, I knew he was right. I do my errands on Saturday and we skip a check in. I end up overwhelmed and grouchy, and I end up being a brat. I really, really try not to, but it happens.
Never in my life have I been spanked with four implements for punishment but he decided it was high time. The last few implements he delivered hard and fast, but thankfully not long.
"I'm sorry," I cried out. "I'm sorry. I will be good."
"You always say that," he said, as he continued spanking me.
"No, I mean it, I'm so sorry." I wasn't shouting or kicking anymore, but subdued and humbled.
He finally was done. I was so sore. I can count on one hand the amount of times he's given me such a severe spanking. It is so extremely rare. But he wanted to make a point.
Later, he told me he wanted to stop me before I spiraled.
He rubbed me for a very long time.
"Please hold me," I begged, and he said, "Let me rub you first, baby girl."
I let him, then he laid down with his head on the pillow, and held me while I cried.
"I didn't know you were going to spank me like that," I said and he responded, "I know. I didn't want you to know. I think having that unexpected consequence like that is more effective sometimes."
"But I hardly even bratted!" I protested.
"You needed to be stopped," he said firmly. "If you had given me full-on brat, you'd have gotten a far worse spanking."
I cried quietly, and he held me tightly.
"You know when you kick those feet it only makes me want to spank you harder, don't you?" he asked.
"I kicked my feet because it hurt so badly!"
"No," he said sternly. "You kicked your feet because you were being a brat who didn't want to take her spanking."
"And I know when you kick those feet that you're really in for it, because I have to spank that brat out of you."
Guess who'll be trying damn hard not to kick her feet during a spanking anymore?
I sighed, finally reassured, though definitely subdued and wanting him to hold me tight.
"I will try not to brat. I promise I will try. But I know I'll still do it sometimes."
"I know, honey," he said. "But you'll learn to curb it."
The mouth-to-brain function doesn't always works so well. But the butt-to-brain function seems to be in fine working order.