Tuesday, February 24, 2015

Blogger Policy Change (Updated)

Update: Blogger has decided not to change their policy after all, so it looks like there's no worries for those of us with the "adult content" notification.

I received the following message from The Blogger Team yesterday. The last time we got a notifcation like this, I know many bloggers didn't receive it, so I thought I'd post it here for those who may have missed it. 

Dear Blogger User,

We're writing to tell you about an upcoming change to the Blogger Content Policy that may affect your account.

In the coming weeks, we'll no longer allow blogs that contain sexually explicit or graphic nude images or video. We'll still allow nudity presented in artistic, educational, documentary, or scientific contexts, or where there are other substantial benefits to the public from not taking action on the content.

The new policy will go into effect on the 23 of March, 2015. After this policy goes into effect, Google will restrict access to any blog identified as being in violation of our revised policy. No content will be deleted, but only blog authors and those with whom they have expressly shared the blog will be able to see the content we've made private.

Our records indicate that your account may be affected by this policy change. Please refrain from creating new content that would violate this policy. Also, we ask that you make any necessary changes to your existing blog to comply as soon as possible, so that you won't experience any interruptions in service. You may also choose to create an archive of your content via Google Takeout (https://www.google.com/settings/takeout/custom/blogger).

For more information, please read here (https://support.google.com/blogger?p=policy_update).

The Blogger Team

Monday, February 23, 2015

The Power of a Role Affirmation Spanking

Revisiting an oldie. 

Some days, I just need to be reminded of who's in charge. 

Some days, I just want a little motivation to do what I need to do.

A few days ago was one of those days.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed with the paddle next to him.

"Come here," he said. "Put yourself over my lap."

I lowered my pants and lay quietly over his lap.

He picked up the paddle.

"I think a good spanking will get you started on the right foot today," he said quietly.

I nodded into the bedspread. I didn't disagree. I knew I needed it.

Swat! He spanked me with the paddle.

"I want you to watch your speed when you're driving today," he said.


"No texting in the car, or doing anything that could get someone hurt."


He continued, firm but not terrible swats, stinging and serious, but nothing like a punishment.

"Remember to get to the gym, and get all your other goals taken care of."


"Make sure you watch your language in front of the kids," he continued.


"You will not sass me, or speak disrespectfully to me in any way." 


As he continued, I felt my certainty returning. He is my rock, and my rock is steady. 

"What will happen if you break one of these rules today?" he asked, his voice becoming sterner.

Swat, swat, swat!

This is so hard for me to answer. 

"I get a spanking," I croaked out. 

"Yes, you absolutely will. When I come home today, I want a good report. Is that understood?"

Swat! Swat! Swat!

"Yes, sir."

"I don't want to have to come home and give you a punishment spanking because you broke a rule. Do you understand me?"

Swat! Swat! Swat!

"I won't! I'll be good!"

He put the paddle down and began to rub.

"That's my good girl," he murmured. "All done now. I know you will do what you need to do." He lifted me up. He hugged me, and kissed me. 

And I felt immense relief. It was a bit intimidating. He can be very stern, and having my rules repeated to me was sobering. 

But it was so, so encouraging. So reassuring. And that is the power of a role affirmation spanking. It isn't humbling, like a punishment. But it's so much more than a sexy spanking.

It says "I'm in control, and you don't have to be." 

It says, "You can trust me." 

It says, "I love you."

Thursday, February 12, 2015


I stand at my kitchen sink, frowning. I've lost my temper, and I need to confess. Jason is upstairs. It wasn't awful – none of what I used to be like. But I did raise my voice and yell at one of my kids who was exasperating me to no end, and I'm not allowed to do that. I did go to her and apologize shortly afterward. But still, I need to tell Jason. 

I go upstairs and shut the door. I tell him I need to confess something, so he nods and lifts his arm and I snuggle up onto his chest, lift my eyes to his and my belly twists. He's looking at me with adoration, and I lose my resolve. “What is it?” he starts. “Did you leave the stove on?” 


“Did you leave your hair straightener plugged in?”


“Did you text in the car?” 

“No!” I finally blurt it all out and tell him what happened. 

“Well, I know the situation is very frustrating, and it's hard keeping my own temper in check sometimes. So I understand. Still, you know I'll spank you for this.” 

I nod. I do know. But it will be some time before we have any privacy. I start reading a book to distract me, and I fall into a deep sleep. I wake hours later, and he's downstairs, getting some down time. I just need him to take my bracelet off because I can't sleep well with it on and I'm not allowed to take it off (It's just one of our things, kinda similar to my collar). I scuffle downstairs and he tells me to go back to bed. But I have a history of pouting when he's getting his down time and I'm in bed alone, and he's strict about not letting me go there. I rarely do anymore, but he's still wary of it. So he sends me back to bed sternly. I go back to bed, but now I can't sleep, so I read again. I wish he'd come up. I don't like having a punishment, even a small one, hanging over my head, and I don't sleep well unless he's next to me. 

I start letting my irritation fester, and now I'm starting to get angry at him. He's been down there hours. Isn't he ever going to come to sleep? I know he will not have forgotten he told me I'm in trouble. But then I stop myself. 

He needs some down time. Let the man get some down time. Lord knows when you need it, he gives it to you without a second thought. Let him be. 

He knows you're in trouble, but he's in charge here, not you. 

So let it go and trust him. 

And I feel at peace. After a short while, he comes in the room. “I don't like you coming down angry because I'm not up here.” I know that's not why I went down, so I simply tell him the truth. 

“I didn't. I just wanted you to take my bracelet off.” He recognizes it for what it is – not backtalking, just clarification – and nods. My anger was after, when I was alone, and fortunately I worked my way around that. He gets ready for bed and climbs next to me. I wonder what he'll do about my punishment. He's exhausted now. Maybe he'll tell me to wait for the morning. 

He doesn't. Softly, he says, “I need to give you ten, baby.” 

I nod. There's something about how he's talking to me – that firm gentleness that inevitably stirs thankfulness in me – that makes me eager to take my punishment, put this behind us, and please him. 

“Come and lie over my lap,” he says.

I obey, lie myself over his lap and lay my head on my arms, as he bares me and administers my punishment. When he's done, I curl up on his chest and he holds me. He chuckles at how I nearly pounce on him. I've missed him. I'm glad the punishment is behind us, and now I want to feel him.

“I'm sorry,” I say. “I will do better tomorrow.” 

“Of course you will, baby,” he says, and I lean in and kiss him, feeling that jolt I do with the scruff of his beard on me. I wish it wasn't so late at night. I'd love for him to take this further. I'd be a willing participant. But he doesn't. The poor man is exhausted, and I know it. I slither down to the bed and roll over on my side, tucked up against him. I feel the length of his body, warm and strong, up against me, and his arm curls around my waist. 

“We're so weird,” he murmurs, so sleepy now, it's a wonder he's still talking. 

“Oh?” I ask. 

“You know, curling up in bed together. And the sex. Don't you know it's like a rule that we're only supposed to be having sex on Valentine's Day and holidays and stuff? And we're breaking all the rules. We cuddle and have tons of sex. Total weirdos.” 

I smother a giggle, as I'm thinking it's probably, by most people's standards, a little weirder that my husband just gave me a spanking for disobeying him. I settle down into his arms, feeling tired and content now, grateful for his appreciation for what we have. I yearn to please him. And I love knowing I make him happy. 

“I like being weird,” I whisper, as we both settle down to sleep.

Tuesday, February 10, 2015

How D/S has Brought About Healing

Please note, this is a re-post of an older post from 2013 I thought time to re-post for a variety of reasons. 


This was the most difficult post I've ever written. My finger hovered over the "publish" button for quite some time, before I took a deep breath and hit it. But I needed to write it.

It's long. My apologies. I tried, but couldn't write it any simpler. 

The past few days, my emotions have run high.

I'm not exactly sure why. There really is no reason. I'm not hormonal. I'm not stressed. Jason and I have been fantastic. But I've been on the verge of tears a lot lately.

Emotions run high in D/S, and I'm no exception to this rule. I never used to be a crier. Not at all. But now, I cry easily.

My emotions have led me to think about how grateful I am. How blessed I am to be loved, and loved deeply. Readers of this blog will know how I adore my husband. And they'll also know I have good reason.

He is patient, and kind, and attentive. But he doesn't let me get away with anything. He has that perfect blend of sternness and gentleness that makes me feel cared for, loved, and treasured. He calls me that sometimes --  his treasure.

He's been home the past few days, and at every possible opportunity, I've been sneaking upstairs to him and putting my head on his lap, giving him a quick kiss, or hugging him. I can't get enough of him. I long to be with him. Finally today he said, "You're just soaking me up, aren't you?"

Yes, I am. I need to. Just be close. Touch him. Hear his voice.

So today, I've been thinking a lot about how deeply we love each other, and I am thankful.

But I'm also thinking about my past, and how I've been healed, and how my relationship with my husband has brought about that healing.

I've hesitated in sharing too much about my past, mostly because I don't like to perpetuate the myth that people who crave D/S come from broken homes. It simply isn't true. But people have been hurt. People come from broken homes. So it only stands to reason, that some of us who choose this lifestyle also came from broken homes.

I am one of those people, and I want to tell you a little bit about this. I need to do this. It's on my heart, and I need to write it all out...for me, for my husband, and for anyone else out there who can relate.

I grew up in a seriously abusive, highly dysfunctional home. It's taken me a long time to come to grips with that. I still don't think I have completely. When I met Jason I was young, and naive. He's a good deal older than I am. I was still living with my parents, still believing the lies they told me I was raised believing.

That I could do nothing right. That it was normal to be belittled, demeaned, and abused. I have vivid memories of kneeling by my bed at night, praying for everything to end. I hated my life. My childhood was horrible. I was terrified in my own home, but I had nowhere to go. My parents would occasionally lash out physically, but it was rare. They chose the verbal variety instead. I was manipulated, and lied to, and taken advantage of. I regularly experienced things that no child should ever, ever go through.

The first time I was driving the car with Jason and made a wrong turn, I remember holding my breath and cringing, awaiting the inevitable wrath that would come from having made a mistake that inconvenienced him. Because that's what men did when they were angry, right? He only turned to me and shrugged and said, "Hey, we'll just take the next exit. It's okay." It shocked me.

He didn't have a temper. He never belittled me. He always looked at the bright side of things. He was patient, and kind. He worked hard. And he loved me.

Although he was good, and kind, he was also very much in charge. He knew what he believed, and he made no apology for it. He was responsible, and protective, though he always did it in the "cool, calm, and collected" way that made me feel safe.

But I had a temper. I was raised in a home where yelling, raging, and screaming were what you did when you were angry. It was nearly instinctive with me. The first few times I lost my temper with Jason, even in the middle of my fit, I expected him to react the same way I did, and fight back. But he never did. He would watch me, arms folded across his chest, and say something like, "Are you done now?" His calm demeanor would make me feel guilty. I felt terrible for the things that I'd said, and he'd forgive me.

I tried so hard to calm that temper of mine. I hated how I felt after I'd lost my patience with my husband. And when we began to have children, I hated how I felt when I'd lost my patience with one of them.

Jason would usually step back when I was in a temper, because it was the easiest way for him to stay calm. But every once in a while he would step up to me, take me by the arm firmly and say, "That's enough!" And when he did, it would immediately take the wind out of my sails.

When I first read about Domestic Discipline, my gut reaction was, "No. That's wrong. It's not right for a husband to discipline his wife." I was repulsed by the idea of a domineering husband trying to exert his will over mine. I wasn't a child. I was a full-grown woman.

But one day, after we'd been dabbling in erotic spanking for some time, Jason told me I would get a "real spanking." I didn't believe him, but he showed me he was, indeed, serious. I was shocked. Mortified. And incredibly, undeniably, drawn to it.

What was it that drew me to being disciplined by my husband? I read, and I read, and I read.

I read about husbands who cared about their wives so deeply, they wouldn't let them do silly, heedless things. I read about wives who said they felt comforted, and secure, and they were able to let their guilt go when their husbands disciplined them.

I wanted that.

After some time, Jason decided we would try out Domestic Discipline and see how it went. We had a few rules at first. We didn't call ourselves "D/S." It was just something we did. If I disobeyed a rule, I got a spanking. It did work. I did feel loved, and forgiven, and after a lifetime of dealing with the pain of guilt, and feeling like I could do nothing right, things began to change. I never in my entire life experienced the loving feel of being disciplined by someone who loved me. I was always punished in anger as a child, so it left me feeling hurt, and rejected. 

This confused me. Why did I crave Jason's discipline so much? Discipline was a negative thing. 

For a long time, I tried to control things. I tried to tell him how to do things. I tried to tell him what I wanted, but nothing he did was right. 

Then one day, one incident changed everything.

One day, several months after he began discipline spankings, I disobeyed a rule. It was a rule I'd broken many times, and he'd had it. He told me was going to spank me soundly for it but he wasn't feeling well, and I'd have to wait until he felt better. 

The wait was torturous. Finally, I lost it. In a fit, I told him to just get it over with already and stop torturing me by making me wait. 

Remember I said my husband stands his ground? Does he ever. No fit of mine will ever get me my way. He told me I'd better knock off the fit, and that I wasn't in control of the situation. 

I went up to my room and fumed up there. Why wouldn't he just get it over with? Why was he torturing me? He sent me a text (since he was all the way on the other side of the house) and he said something like, "You're being a brat and you'd better knock it off. This isn't your call." 

I responded by being a total brat and told him he was being mean and I was sick of being treated so poorly! 

His response was, "Alright, then. I'm mean. Maybe it's time you go back to dealing with these things on your own. Maybe I shouldn't discipline you anymore." 

Oh gosh. That was devastating. I responded and apologized and begged him not to take D/S away from me. 

I heard him coming upstairs. I expected his anger. Although he doesn't rant and rave, the man is human. When he gets angry with me, I know it. I expected he'd come up and tell me it was over. No more D/S. That he was done with my brattiness and controlling. 

He did not. 

He came into the room, where I was weeping quietly to myself. He sat on the bed, pulled me into his arms, and rocked me. 

"You need to trust me," he whispered. "This is not yours to control. You're going about this all the wrong way. If this is what you want, you need to let me do things my way. You need to let me lead you. If you want me in charge, it's time to let this go." 

I cried, and I cried, and I cried. And it all came out. 

I'd been holding onto some kind of hope -- some ray of light -- something, anything that would help me believe my parents loved me unconditionally. I still wanted to know I meant something to them. I still couldn't come to grips with the pain of having been abused and rejected. 

I told him. As he held me and I wept, I told him everything. That never in my life had I been held accountable by someone who loved me. That never had anyone cared enough for me to discipline me lovingly, and teach me how to be a better person. To help me change the character flaws I hated about myself. To help me forgive myself for the mistakes I made. No one had ever done that for me. 

My desire to be disciplined by the one person in my life who ever loved me unconditionally was so deeply rooted in my desire to be taken care of, and protected. He kissed me and told me he understood. And then he told me something I will never forget. 

"I don't care what you do, what you say, or whatever mistakes you make. I will always, always love you. That will never change, not ever. I'm not going anywhere. I am here. You are mine, and I love you so much. But you need to trust me. I can't do what you need me to do unless you trust me." 

I cried into his chest and he held me, as I told him I would. I would trust him. I wouldn't control this anymore. And that I loved him, too. 

"You deserve a spanking for disobeying me. But because I need to teach you to trust me, I'm going to have you wait until the end of the weekend," he said. 

"Nooooo," I cried. The two-day long wait had been torture enough. I needed to wait even longer? 

"I will stay with you. I'm going to walk you through this. You can cry to me, and tell me everything you're feeling, and I'll help you with it. I will hold your hand through this and help you. But you're going to let go of this control, and trust me." 

And when he said that, a funny thing happened. I felt peace. I didn't feel the angst of waiting for a punishment anymore. I knew then, down to my bones, that he loved me, that he would always do what was right by me, and that most of all I could trust him

I nodded. I let it all go. My desire to control and make things happen on my terms. I put myself completely at his mercy, and it felt so good

"Okay," I said. "I completely trust you. I won't ask again. I won't push, or beg or anything. You do what you think is best." 

"You mean that?" he asked. 

"Yes," I responded. I did. I really truly did. 

He squeezed me and kissed my forehead. "That's what I needed to hear," he said. "Come to the end of the bed now. I think it's time we got this punishment over with." 

Oh, the relief. All of it. To know he knew what I needed, and that he loved me, and that I could trust him. 

He gave me a long, hard spanking. It was the first time ever he spanked in sets. In between sets, he rubbed me and talked quietly to me, and I cried as I let it all go. When he was finished giving me one of the hardest spankings I'd gotten at that point, he held me while I cried, and all was forgiven. 

It was what I needed. 

It is what I need. 

As I've given over control in this, and truly put it all in my husband's hands, I've felt myself experiencing healing from the past. I've felt the love of a firm, loving hand that I've craved. 

When I once deliberately disobeyed him, made the conscious decision that I didn't care if I'd get spanked or not, I was going to disobey him anyway, I felt guilt about it and told him. He looked at me sorrowfully and pulled me over to him. "I'm glad you told me," he said quietly. "Disobeying me is one thing. Intentionally disobeying me like that is another thing entirely. I have to spank you for that, and I have to spank you soundly. I can't allow you to even entertain thoughts like that. Do you understand me?" 

I remember feeling fear at the thought of the sound spanking he promised, but overcome with emotion. It was the unmistakable feeling of knowing he does this because he loves me. 

This past weekend, I lost my temper with one of my kids. Jason was at the top of the stairs and heard me. He called my name sharply. I knew I was in trouble. I meekly went upstairs to him, and he instructed me to sit at the end of the bed. He walked over to me, and put a finger under my chin, raising my eyes to his. 

"I can't have you behaving like that," he said. "What you did was wrong." He was right. I felt the guilt of knowing I did something wrong. My kids didn't deserve to be treated the way I'd treated them. He looked steadily into my eyes. 

"I don't ever want to hear you treat them that way because you're taking your frustrations out on them. I will help you with what you need, always. But if that happens again, you're getting a spanking. Do you understand me?" 

I nodded. And again...it was that feeling of being loved. He doesn't discipline me because he's selfish. He doesn't do it because he's on a power trip. He doesn't do it to demean me, and he never treats me like a child. He does it because I need it. He does it because it helps me. 

But most of all, he does it because he loves me. He loves me the way no one else has ever loved me...unconditionally. And trusting myself to him was the best decision I've ever made.

Tuesday, February 3, 2015

Dominance is Leadership

A little while ago, I mentioned to Jason that a friend and I had been discussing the “Wife Swap” show. I told Jason that there was a couple with a decided male-led relationship that switched with a couple with the opposite dynamic. Let's just say, it didn't go over too well on the show. In discussing this with him, I giggled to myself, imagining his reaction to swapping wives and having one that came in and told him what to do. 

Okay, I'm still giggling about it.

Anyhow, as I blathered on about all this, he was very serious, and it took me by surprise. I looked at him, and he'd grown stern and somber. 

“I would never allow that to happen,” he said. I laughed, still being silly about it, thinking he meant he'd never allow a wife swap to take place, for the sake of a tv show. I could just see him, with the cantankerous, bossy wife, unable to put her over his knee because of the camera (among other reasons.) 

“Of course you wouldn't! I know that,” I said. “I know we'd never do a show like that. I mean...there are elements of our marriage that are clearly not for the public!” I still found the mere idea somewhat laughable.

He shook his head. “That's not what I mean,” he said. “I'm not referring to dominance and submission. I mean, I would never allow someone to come in my home, tell me what to do, and essentially strip me of my ability to take care of my family.” 

And then I sobered. I finally understood what he meant, and it gave me a greater appreciation for the man that Jason is. And it all became so clear. I knew it before...but somehow, the way he said it really drove it all home. 

He is the leader in our home because I grant him that authority, yes. I defer to him in every way because I've relinquished authority to him, and this is the agreement we have with one another. And yes, we both find our D/S lifestyle erotic and sexy, and we find the mutual meeting of one another's needs fulfilling. However...he has always been the leader in our home. And the reason he leads isn't just because it's natural...it isn't just because I encourage it...it's because he feels it's the best way for him to take care of the people he loves. 

I love that. In fact, I went from being silly and laughing about our conversation to getting choked up over it. I don't know if he knew how deeply it struck me, how he caused me to have a greater appreciation for what he does, who he is, and how he leads. 

One night, he was reading a blog post of mine in which I related getting in serious trouble over something. I was in bed, next to him, reading, and we were sharing a snack. I reached for the bag at the same time he did, and teasingly put my hand in front of his. Without looking up from his iPad, he swatted my hand. Subdued, I pulled my hand back as he got more snacks for himself. I reached for another snack, and he grumbled, “Enough of those for you. If you eat anymore, you'll feel sick.” (I can't handle much sugar, and they were sweetened peanuts, I think). 

I obeyed.

As we continued to read, I told him the next day I was taking the kids swimming. He grunted, continuing to read, and said, “None of the non-swimmers go anywhere apart from you. I want life vests on, too. But I'm telling you right now, if there's no lifeguard on duty, no one sets a toe in that water. Am I clear?” 

I agreed. 

We continued to read. 

“Do you like the post?” I asked him. 

He nodded, then kinda chuckled to himself. “It's really good. The only thing is, babe, I think you make me out to be sterner than I am.” 


“Oh, I don't know about that,” I said. “But, keep in mind, the blog is about dominance and submission, so your bossiness is kind of a theme.” 

But our interaction showed me something I hadn't really realized before. He doesn't really see his bossiness as “bossiness.” 

He sees it as leading, a simple way of ensuring his family is protected, no different than paying the bills, or making sure our needs are taken care of. 

Me, I see it differently. Yes, I'm attracted to his dominance. He knows how to make me putty in his hands. But it's not just about rules. It's not just about the erotic attraction I have to his dominance and he to my submission. It runs deeper than that. 

The other day, I broke a small rule. Alone in the kitchen, I stood at one end and he at the other. 

“Am I in trouble?” I asked. He nodded, then beckoned me over to him. I walked over, burying my head on his chest as he pulled me in for a hug. He leaned down and whispered in my ear. 

“You know I spank you because I love you.” 

Yes. I do know. And I dwelt on that all evening. 

I'm still dwelling on it. 

I know you'll read this, Jason. I've said it before and I'll say it again. 

Thank you for who you are. 

Photo credit: AIM leadership