Happy New Year, readers. I sincerely hope 2017 is a year of love, happiness, and blessings!
On New Year's Eve, we had a quiet evening in with some yummy food and drinks with our kiddos. While Jason and the kids did their typical New Year's Eve tradition of watching movies (Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter – we alternate!) I flitted around preparing food, catching bits of the movie, and sitting down to pen some goals for 2017. It was fun to see my list of goals for 2016 and see where I met some, exceeded some, and didn't meet others, and reflect on the year behind me. And when we were alone that evening, as I was sitting in bed next to him, I had an idea.
I wanted to start the year clean. Get a fresh outlook and perspective. Be motivated to put my focus where it should be. And I had an idea. The idea made me a little nervous, but also eager. So I discussed it with Jason.
The conversation went something like this. “Daddy, I'm wondering...maybe you will consider giving me a “clean slate” spanking to start off the year? To help get me motivated to really do what I need to do.” He was curious, so he put down what he was doing, opened up his arm, and beckoned for me to come on over and snuggle. Many of our intimate conversations happen with me tucked up on his chest in bed. So over I went.
“What do you mean?” he asked. “What do you have in mind?” It was then that I got a little more nervous and I squirmed a bit.
“Well...sometimes I don't exactly tell you everything. It's not that I lie to you. But I forget things. And I know there were lots of times that I forgot to tell you something that you wouldn't have really approved of. And I thought maybe it would be good to start over. Clean the slate.”
He drew his brows together and grew even more serious. “What types of things don't you tell me?”
“Well...you know, sometimes maybe I go over the speed limit and don't remember to tell you right away. Orrr...the girls are baking, and I need to taste the frosting, and I don't try it just once but maybe I taste it like four times and I know I'm not allowed to eat sweets without permission. Or...the times I swear and don't fess up, or do what I'm supposed to be doing, like texting when I'm supposed to be sleeping or something like that. Little things that I don't always remember to tell you. Then, after days pass it just seems silly to bring them all up again.”
He was pretty damn serious at this point.
He does not expect perfection from me. And I would say that most of those little things that sorta niggled at me wouldn't have even been things he'd necessarily punish me for. He doesn't want me being scrupulous and tattle on myself for every little thing. He wants me to keep trying to be good, to take care of myself, to focus on the right priorities, and to lean on him. But I wanted that good, clean slate.
He gave me a good swat. “You shouldn't be doing those things, baby,” he said. I nodded, a bit chastened already. I was really squirming having this conversation. But it was really late at this point, so he just gave me a kiss, and told me we would talk the next day.
The next day, as he was sitting up in bed after I'd brought him his morning coffee, the first thing he said to me was, “I haven't forgotten what we discussed last night.” He was smiling, though, not angry or anything.
“You mean the...clean slate spanking I asked for?”
I shifted a bit on the bed and looked away. Now I was feeling pretty nervous. I knew in my gut this wasn't going to be like my typical morning maintenance. I knew it wasn't going to be like a serious punishment either. The truth was, I had no idea what to expect. He sent me downstairs to get my breakfast while he made sure the kids were occupied, and I started working on writing some lesson-planning notes while I ate my breakfast. About ten minutes later, he called my name and said, “Please come up when you are ready.”
Now I was a total and complete ball of nerves. My stomach was churning, my heart pitter-pattering in my chest. I suddenly got very busy doodling in the margins of my notebook. I took a deep breath, and decided now or never. I put my notes down, and went upstairs to where he was waiting.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed, in his jeans and a long-sleeved blue top, and my heart did that little stutter thing because I'm smitten with him. Next to him on the bed was the long bamboo rod. I have no idea where we got this thing. I think it was the handle of a fishing net or something and when it broke off, Jason snagged it and put it in his desk drawer. Yikes. It quietly whips through the air, stings like crazy, and suffice it to say, I'm not a big fan. Anyway, in I went. He got up, locked the door, and pointed for me to kneel. Down to the floor I dropped, between his knees, as we talked through what was going to happen.
He held my chin, maintaining eye contact, as he asked me to explain why I wanted this spanking. I told him – I want to start fresh. I want to be honest, and focus on what I want to improve. He was very serious the whole time, nodding and listening.
“You need this,” he said, still holding me by the chin. “I didn't know that you weren't telling me those little things.”
“It's not like I do it on purpose,” I explained, not justifying but clarifying. “It's especially hard when we don't check in at night, because there are so many things on my mind that I don't remember what I was supposed to tell you. And then it all just fades.”
He nodded. “So my goal in 2017 is to make sure I'm very consistent with you and check in with you every evening. I can recognize that was my fault, not making sure I checked in with you as regularly as I should have.” I nodded, grateful that he was willing to recognize what he wants to do better. Then he released my chin and said to me, “Prepare yourself. You need a good spanking, and I'm going to give you what you need. Get over my knee.”
Oh boy. Yeah, I was pretty nervous at that point. I swear almost every single time he spanks me he starts with, “Get over my knee” and that never fails to make me squirm. Sometimes he spanks me over his lap, both feet straight off the floor, but most of the time it's over one knee. When I was over his knee, squeezing my eyes tight, with my upper body on the bed, prepared for what I both wanted and didn't, he pulled down my leggings all the way down to my ankles. He doesn't always do that. It is, shall we say, sobering.
And he began. He didn't lecture much, but started right in, slow and steady. I didn't fight much at first. When he punishes me, he usually has to hold me down, because I'm not so good at just taking it. This was harder than maintenance, but not as hard as punishment. It was actually exactly what I needed. I guess you'd call it a “deep clean” sort of spanking. Firm, deliberate strokes, slow and steady and on and on it went. A few times I whispered, “ow, daddy,” but I tried to be brave and just take it. It hurt, though, a lot, and to my surprise, about halfway through, I found myself crying. I didn't even know why I was crying, but I did, my hands clenched the bedspread as the tears flowed, focusing on the firm, steady grip of his hand around my waist that both anchors and reassures me when he spanks me. He wasn't done, not by a long shot, and the next thing I knew, his legs were over mine, and he continued, but now he started talking.
“Daddy's going to make sure you have the very best 2017 you can possibly have. You're going to do what you need to, and I'm going to be there to help you.” A few strokes landed on my upper thighs and yikes did that hurt. Gosh, the sting, it burned. I continued to sniffle, taking my spanking, allowing myself to experience that cathartic release that I knew I needed. I couldn't do anything but focus on my submission, every stroke bringing me closer to submission to him, letting go of the past, baring me to him in every way possible.
And then he was done. I was crying steadily now, as his large hand rubbed out the sting. “Look at you,” he said with a bit of amusement, but a sort of quiet pride, like he was proud of me for taking my spanking, and I could hear in his voice how precious I am to him. “Your bottom is striped like a baby tiger.” I smiled through my tears as he massaged my tender skin. “You may use the arnica today if you need to, if it'll help ease the sting.” I'm not allowed to use arnica after a punishment. This was different. Still, I told him I didn't want to. Somehow, I needed to keep feeling this one.
I wiped at my eyes, as he placed me on the floor between his knees. I put my head in his lap and just cried. I wasn't even sure why I was crying. It wasn't like when I'm punished and I'm remorseful. It was more than that. It was a sort of release, I think, a purging, if you will, but also laced with the deep satisfaction that comes from having my emotional needs met. The tears were also born of heartfelt gratitude that he's my Dominant, that he's so serious about taking care of me, protecting me, disciplining me, and loving me. He didn't scoff at my request but understood what I needed, and he met those needs. As I'm sitting here typing all this, my body still aches from that spanking, and I'm misty-eyed all over again. There's oh-so-much wrapped into all of this. Trust. Thankfulness. Growth. Intimacy. Eroticism.
I couldn't stop crying. I was sort of a wreck. He leaned down and said, “would you like if daddy brushed your hair?” I nodded, and he got up, went to the bathroom, fetched some tissues and a hairbrush, and returned to me. I wiped my tears and blew my nose and put my head on his lap while he brushed my hair, and he talked in low, soothing tones about how pretty he thinks my hair is, how I'm his babygirl, and how this is going to be a good year for me.
He put the brush down, and I wrapped my arms tight around him. We kissed. The kissing led to other delicious things. And we rang in 2017 in the most delightful way possible.
I never planned on asking him for this. I had no idea I even needed it. I'm a little shy even posting this, because it's personal, and I know not everyone will really even understand. I'm not even sure I do. But I'm not going to explain any more than I already have. It was exactly what I needed. It was cathartic, and healing, and even I, who reaches for words as the easiest way of communicating my thoughts and feelings, sniffling my way through this post that I knew I needed to write, am at a complete loss for the words to describe how very much I love him.