It's been a nice day, but I'm tired. I went to bed late, and was up early, and the time has gotten away from me. I always like to plan a nice dinner and dessert on Sunday night, so I go into the kitchen, hoping I can get everything done just in the nick of time.
Everything is going smoothly. Food is baking, the sauce is bubbling on the stove, one of my daughters is helping me prepare dessert. I lift the salt shaker and go to season the sauce, and the entire top breaks, the contents of the newly-filled salt shaker dumping into my sauce. I scramble, trying to scoop it out, but it's hopeless. With a sigh, I take the double batch that was just about ready to be served, and I dump it out. There was a time when I would've sworn and slammed things. But I don't. Jason is sitting in the other room, so I step into the room and give him a pouty look.
"What's the matter, babe?" he asks. I tell him.
He looks at me sympathetically. "It's okay. Just make another batch. All you need is some olive oil, and tomatoes, and --"
"I know how to do it," I interrupt in the calmest voice I can muster. "I just did it. Now I just need to do it again, and dinner will be late."
He narrows his eyes, warning me, but all he says is, "Okay, then. Go for it. And don't worry about the time."
I know I'm on thin ice there. I'm not supposed to interrupt him, but he gave me a little leeway there. Time to reign it in.
I go back and finish dinner, and serve it up. I'm still on edge. I tell him dinner is ready and ask for help, but he's busy. I feel my frustration mounting again, but I will myself to just stay calm, just submit, just be patient.
Dinner is a success, though, and I manage to stay calm even though I'm still feeling pretty flustered. I go to serve dessert, a lovely crumble my daughter helped me make, and I see that even though we followed the directions, it's nowhere near done. I sigh. Time for plan B. We get some ice cream out of the freezer, and I serve it up, simmering and muttering under my breath.
I start clearing the table. Someone makes a rude comment to me, and I feel my resolve snap. I'm alone in the kitchen. I take a fork and whip it into the sink, shattering a glass.
Did he see? No. If he saw, I'm toast, he'll be marching me upstairs and over his knee in 2.3 seconds flat.
But I feel guilty. Keep it in? I clean it up as quietly as I can, berating myself for being a brat, but I'm riddled with guilt. I know I need a spanking. And there's more than that. I need him to set me to rights again, clear my head, sort me out.
I go to him and he welcomes me over, lifting his arm and I settle in.
I tell him what I did.
He looks somewhat amused. "You whipped a fork into the sink and broke a glass?"
"Yes," I say, in a little voice.
"You really need a spanking," he says, and I nod. I know I do.
This is where I start getting frustrated with myself. I think things like,
Am I ever going to learn?
How am I ever going to be the girl he wants me to be?
How can he still have patience with me, doing bratty things like this, after all this time?
"Listen," he says. "I think a good spanking is in order. But you need to let this go now. You got frustrated tonight. I got frustrated earlier. It happens. You need to look at the progress you've made."
I raise my eyebrows to him. "Progress?"
He laughs, "Baby, a year ago you would've been swearing up a storm and justifying your behavior. Now look at you. So you had a fit and threw a fork, and that's not acceptable. I don't want you doing that, and you know it. But you will learn."
I nod. I will learn, because he teaches me. I will learn, because it's a matter of picking myself up and trying all over again.
As I clean up the kitchen, I think to myself, how is it that he keeps taming me? The title of this blog really rings true. Little by little, bit by bit, he's taming me. I'm learning, every day, what he expects of me. Friday night we had a long talk about some of his expectations, and I've been mulling them over ever since.
You would think, with an Hoh as stern and consistent as Jason, that I would've learned more by now. Sometimes I ask myself how it can be that I haven't, but he doesn't allow me to get into that frame of mind, so I make myself keep going, keep trying, keep picking myself up and starting over again.
He waits until the kids are in bed, and I am ready for bed. He hasn't told me I need to go to bed yet, but I am tired. I ask him if he's coming. I know he's going to spank me, and I'm tired. He tells me no, he will be up in an hour.
"Please," I beg him. I hate waiting on a punishment. And there are things I want to talk to him about.
"No," he says, sterner this time. "I'll be up in an hour."
And believe it or not, I do another bratty thing again.
I cross my arms, feeling frustrated and pent up and so ready to be sorted out. "Well I'm not going to bed until you come up then."
Wrong answer, girl.
He sits up, takes my chin so my eyes are level with his, and says, "Oh yes you are. You are not staying up with me with an attitude like that. March yourself upstairs, get ready for bed, and wait for me."
Deflated, frustrated, and put in my place, I mumble a "yes, sir," and shuffle upstairs.
Part of me is angry. Doesn't he know I need him? But wait, it's not all about me.
But part of me is grateful. I am so thankful he doesn't allow me to be a brat. I know when he comes up he's going to make sure I've learned my lesson, and at this point, I want that behind us. I want to be good again. I want a clean slate. The best I can do now, while I wait for him, is obey.
I do as he says, and I wait for him.
He comes upstairs.
"We have a little matter to attend to," he says. I nod. I know. Boy do I know.
He made a new strap and it's sitting in his implement drawer. It's a serious implement and I haven't been punished with it yet. I got a good taste of it for a sexy spanking though, and it's serious stuff. I can hardly breathe, for fear he will choose the strap tonight.
"This is how we're going to do this," he says, going to the implement drawer. He takes out the brush. He knows I've been wondering if the strap will come out, as he says, "I'm going to take it easier on you tonight. I'm getting in bed, and you're lying across my lap. I'm going to spank you, and we will put this behind us."
I nod. Honestly, I am so ready to put this behind us. I know the spanking is going to hurt, but I also know how badly I need it tonight.
This is where the mixed feelings come in. Punishment is hard to take. I don't enjoy it. But sometimes, I need it. Sometimes I need to feel him sort me out, set my head on straight again. Sometimes I want to know he cares, that how I behave and what I do are important to him. Sometimes I want to be motivated to do better, because I want so badly to please him. Sometimes I don't want leniency, I want his sternness.
Somehow, it's the serious side of things that I crave at times.
When he punishes me, he's not just taking me on. He's not just taming the brat. He's taking it all on. My worries. My fears. My insecurities, and my frustrations. My guilt.
"Come here," he says sternly. And this is where the process begins. He commands, and I feel that little bit of frustration go away.
Zip. Gonzo. One layer gone.
Just do what he says.
"Strip," he says. He wants all of me bare, so I lie completely and utterly vulnerable over his lap. Skin to skin, I feel him beneath me, his strength beginning to overcome me.
Zip. Another layer gone.
You are his.
"Why are you getting a spanking?" he asks, and I whisper the reasons. I was a brat. I misbehaved. I gave him an attitude.
"This isn't acceptable," he lectures. "You're not allowed to behave that way. Are you going to be a good girl this week?" he asks.
"Yes, sir," I say, tears coming to my eyes. I want to be. I want to be his good girl so badly.
Zip. Another layer gone.
He loves you.
He spanks me. I bury my face in the blanket on the bed, muffling my cries, as the sharp bite of the brush finds it's target. Swat after swat he lands.
He lectures while he spanks, and tears come to my eyes. I want to please him. I want to do better. I will do better.
It hurts, and I'm squirming, but he holds me fast and continues to spank me until I lay over his lap, completely surrendered. Calm. Centered. Submissive.
Tonight, it wasn't all about teaching me a lesson. Tonight, there was more at play.
Tonight I needed him.
I'm calm now. I've told him before, "I don't know how you can continue to still be so patient with me."
He laughed. "I can take you, baby," he said.
And he's right. He can take me.
Hell, he can tame me.
He has tamed me.
I may never reach that place where I want to be. I may never reach that place where he wants me to be.
But I'll be damned if I won't give it everything I've got.