Monday, February 27, 2017

A Quick Hello

Hello, readers! Tonight, I am posting in a very tired, but very content sort of place and thought it was time for a casual sort of post. I don't have anything earth-shattering or riveting, just a "day in the life of Jane and Jason" sorta post. Also,  many of you kindly expressed your concerns over my family being sick, and hoped we were on the mend. I'm happy to report that while we aren't 100%, we are definitely on the mend, and it's been a fantastic weekend.

Maisy and I launched the next book in our Boston Doms series, which soared on up to bestseller in contemporary romance (squeeee! Details on my writing blog, which you can find in the sidebar or at Then Jason and I had an amazing time at a party last night with some dear friends of ours. It sure is nice to be at that stage where our older kids can babysit the younger ones and we can head on out from time to time. We enjoy each other's company so very much, and with all our responsibilities, we don't always get as much time each other as we'd like.

But boy did I ever get spanked this week. So. Much. Spanking.  Eep! Why? Well, it was a whole bunch of things. First, I was sick, and I don't handle being sidelined very well. It makes me grumpy. And as I was saying to a friend of mine, submission takes so much mental energy and focus, that when my energy is drained by something else (like illness or stress), submitting is so much harder. So, I was sick enough to not be myself but well enough to take a spanking, so did I ever. I honestly don't even remember what I did.

Ohhh, no wait. I do remember one night. Yikes. I was so exhausted I could hardly keep my eyes open, and Jason made me mad, and did I ever bite his head off. He was not happy at all and he just glared and said "five," which means we bypass right on over the warnings and go straight to "you're getting spanked." He was furious and I was beyond exhausted and frustrated and said something like, "I know, I know." By the time we were alone, he actually smiled and looked at me with this look of absolute bewilderment, like, "who are you and what have you done with my wife?" I just shook my head and told him I'd just sort of lost it. Shaking his head, he gestured for me to come over to him (he was not smiling at this point). He had not only the acrylic rod out but the wooden spoon. Yiiiiikes. Over the knee I went, and he spanked me pretty damn good. It wasn't the worst I've ever had by a long shot, but it was enough that I was sniffling out "I'm sorry, daddy," in short time. I climbed under the covers and cried a little, and he tucked me in. I was out seconds later.

The next day, I gave Maisy a run-down of how my night had gone, and ended with, "And then he spanked me and I cried and he tucked me in and I went to sleep." She said my text made her laugh, and then she said, "I'm sorry to laugh, but look at what you just said. He spanked you, then tucked you in. You're living the dream, you know that?"

Living the dream. I've been thinking of that ever since. Funny, isn't it, how the fact that my husband spanked me then tucked me in really is "living the dream?" But there's truth to it. I cried because being disciplined released repentance and the emotions that were frustrating me. But then he soothed me and held me. It's really exactly what I need -- the sternness, the consistency, not allowing me to behave badly, and the sweetness that comes from being comforted and forgiven. 

There were other spankings this week, too. Oh so many spankings, mostly because I've been off my game and a bit overwhelmed. "I need to catch up," I said to Jason. 

"No," he said. "You do not. There's no catching up. You pick up where you left off." I needed to hear that, and he was right. I put so much pressure on myself sometimes, that I need his levelheaded guidance. A reminder that I don't have to do all the things. That it's okay to slow down and let some things go. He keeps me grounded. 

So every day, at least once and sometimes more (especially on those days I earned myself a discipline spanking), over his knee I went, but I needed it so much. As soon as my belly hits his knee, I feel a bit of the tension go right out of me and he just knows how to handle my crazy. 

A few months ago, I was upset about something. I'd gone out of my way to make a special purchase, and could not find it anywhere. I was near frazzled. He brought me upstairs, sat on the edge of the bed, grasped my wrist and drew me over his lap. I protested, because even though I was frazzled, I'd done my very best not to lose my temper or act out. I'd kept my composure. I told him I didn't know why he was spanking me, as I didn't think I deserved to be spanked. But he said, "I'm not spanking you. Just stay here." And I did, in the position I'm so very familiar with, over his knee, with my head on the bed and one of his hands anchored on my waist while the other rested on my very vulnerable bottom. As he spoke quietly to me, calm settled over me. The submissive position, and knowing he was in control, helped me relax and focus. 

So this week, that's what he did...brought me back into focus. It was fairly painful at times (spanking hurts, y'all), but I'm ready to take on the week ahead with a clear frame of mind. Today, I'm so grateful Jason is my Dom, and that he gleans as much from all this as I do. I know that before he goes to work in the morning, I'll go over his lap again. Focused, Submitted, and ready to take whatever comes my way. 

Monday, February 20, 2017

What a Daddy Does

Well, it’s that time of year. Seems everyone I know is sick in one way or another. I can’t complain, since it’s been nearly a full year since we’ve all come down with something, other than a few minor colds, but now, it’s hit us hard. Jason was sick the worst, at first. I feel needy for him, when he’s in bed sick. I miss the attention, having his help, and I just miss him.  He snuggles me and brushes my hair back off my forehead and tells me on the days that he can’t check me in that he’s still my daddy, and I’m still his good girl.

I put on a brave front, and do what needs to be done. I take things easy, and don’t put too much pressure on myself. I keep meals simple, and keep the kids away so he can rest. And then sure enough, just about the time when Jason is getting back to normal, I get plagued with illness. Fevers and chills and a headache.

Now we all know what it’s like when mom is sick. Life must go on! Moms don’t get to be sick.

But things are a bit different when there’s a daddy in the house.

But, like moms do, I push through anyway because mom can’t afford to be sick. I am not only sick, I’ve got those raging hormones, and it seems just impossible to be nice to everyone. I snap at my son, and let loose a few nasty things that I should not say. Jason comes over to me and sees me sitting in a chair, too tired to even move. He puts his hand on my forehead and says I’m warm. “Up to bed with you,” he says with gentle sternness. “I’ll take over.” And he does. He comes up to my room and sits on the bed, rubbing my back and tucking the blanket in around me. “You rest,” he says. “You’ve done nothing but take care of all of us when we were sick. Now it’s your turn.”

I feel awful, but I can’t say I don’t like the feeling of being taken care of like this. He does the laundry, and cooks meals. He manages the kids, and checks on me from time to time. I fiddle around on my phone when I’m not dozing, as it’s hard to concentrate and read when I feel sick like this. He comes up to me and pulls me into a cuddle, and kisses my forehead.

Because that’s what a daddy does.

But I feel guilty for having snapped at everyone. I don’t like when I behave like this, and I’m ashamed of myself. I know I have excuses, and I’m not myself, but I don’t like excuses. We talk a bit, and when he asks how I’m feeling I tell him, and he holds me. I apologize for being bratty. He kisses me again and says in that sweet-stern way of his, “We will deal with your attitude when you feel better. You know that little girls aren’t allowed to behave that way.” My heart thumps and I nod, both ashamed yet secure.

“I know, daddy,” I whisper. “I really am sorry.”

He nods. “You’ll go over my knee for that later, but for now you need rest.”

I squirm a bit. I can’t help it. I need to know. “It won’t be very bad, will it?” I ask.

He merely gives me an appraising look and shrugs. “Well that, little girl, is up to you, now, isn’t it? Are you going to behave yourself?”

Gentle-stern. Sweet but serious. He cares for me, but makes sure I don’t lose the sure footing of his dominance.

Because that’s what a daddy does.

He leaves me to go cook for our brood, and instructs the kids to clean up. They do. And when all is said and done, he orders me to stay in bed and get in my jammies. I do. A short while later, he peeks in on me, lifts the covers, and says, “Jammies?” He’s checking to make sure I’ve done what I said I would. He nods and tucks me back in.

Keeping me safe, and cared for, and making sure that I’ve obeyed. And yes, he did spank me, but it wasn't awful. It was sorta what I needed, I think.

Because that’s what a daddy does. 

Sunday, February 5, 2017

Taking Down My Walls

I was a little upset with Jason this morning. I wanted him to come with me somewhere (we had planned on it), and he decided it was better for him not to go. I expressed my opinion and he expressed his decision. That’s how it goes here a lot of the time – I offer my perspective, he listens, then he does what he thinks is best. So, I prepared to leave (under protest, but I didn’t act disrespectfully) and before I left, I kissed him. He wrapped his hand around the back of my neck and whispered, “When you are done, you come straight home to check in. No running around to do errands or anything. Come straight back to me.”

So, I did, and as soon as I came in, I heard him call my name. I went up to him. He was already waiting for me in our room, with his “magic wand.” I knelt and showed him my to-do list, and we discussed it while I tucked my head up against his chest. I sure love that connection with him, and I really needed it this morning. We discussed my list and our plans for the day, and then he said, “Drop your pants and climb over daddy’s lap. Now.” He wasn’t angry, but he was very serious. So over I went, bared and ready to take my morning spanking.

“You need a good dose of this today,” he said. “I can feel it. You need to be reminded who’s in charge here. You need to do what your daddy says, and behave yourself. Are you going to obey daddy?”

I was squirming and kicking my feet, but he held me fast. “Yes, daddy,” I said, and on and on he went. Lawdy, did that hurt. It wasn’t as bad as a punishment spanking, but it was good and thorough.

“You’ll stay on track with your list today, and come to me if you need me,” he said, while peppering me good and hard with swats. “You’ll speak respectfully and obey your daddy. You’ll remember your place.” I was nodding and affirming everything he said in my most submissive voice ever, until finally he was done. This was not a sexy kinda morning. This was about putting me in my place.
Keeping my walls down.

The beauty of a working D/s dynamic is that the walls are broken down -- the walls that hold me back from being soft, sweet, and submssive...vulnerable. I can feel them. It’s almost a hardening of my heart toward him. When he spanks me, those walls break down. I can’t hide. I can’t hold back. I’m stripped of all that holds me back from him, and reduced to nothing but utter transparency. Delivering a spanking is one of the most overtly dominant actions, and my going over his knee is one of the most overtly submissive actions. This is why he spanks me nearly every day.

The walls I put up to avoid being hurt. When I am upset with Jason, those walls begin to creep back up. 

After he spanked me this morning, I felt “little.” I don’t really know how else to describe it. It’s not really little in the sense of a babygirl who likes stuffies or coloring (I have no personal aversion to either, they just don’t attract me). I just feel sort of…quiet. My spirit feels little, because there are no walls that keep me apart from Jason. After he spanks me, he often says, “Ah, there’s my good girl back,” or “there she is, my sweet girl is back again.” When he spanks me to show me he’s boss, like he did this morning, I’m left feeling bared in more ways than one. My heart is laid bare.

He put down the rod, and rubbed my stinging skin, then let me go. I stood and climbed right on up in his lap and tucked my head up against his neck, my arms going around his neck. He held me like that, rocking me a little. “You’re such a good girl for daddy,” he said, and honest to God, if I were a cat I would’ve purred. I sort of melted into him and smiled and giggled. I can’t help it. When I need a spanking, and get that type of spanking that reminds me to obey him, my walls are torn down.

This is why he spanks me so frequently. If he doesn’t, my dominant side comes back out. The dominant side of me is a goal-setter and a go-getter. I manage my house and the needs of my children. I balance budgets and tackle laundry and orchestrate calendars. I teach and guide and instruct. I mop floors and cook meals, return library books, wrap birthday gifts, and make doctor’s appointments. I write books and prepare book launches and correspond with editors and clean out my inbox. I do all the very many things that need to be done, just like all of you do. I have to access the dominant part of my brain to get things done.

For me to be submissive, I need those walls brought down again. 

When I’m upset about something? I build those walls so fast you’d think I was a bricklayer. Up the walls go. I might obey outwardly but my heart isn’t inwardly softened toward Jason. Brick by brick, layer by layer, I keep him apart from me when I’m hurt. When I’m a raging hormonal lunatic, those bricks are ever so handy. Up those walls go, and he knows when the walls are up. He says he can feel it when he holds me, and see it in my eyes.

There are several ways he brings those walls back down again. Sometimes it’s a snuggle and some sweet daddy time. Sometimes we need to have a good talk, and sometimes (ahem) we need to get down to business, because intimacy has a way of baring me to him once again. But sometimes the most efficient way of getting me back to “sweet, submissive, and surrendered,” is by taking me across his lap, not even just across his knee like he’s wont to do, but straight up off the floor and strewn over his lap.

He likes me to feel the sting every day. I like the feel, the reminder that I’m his. In the beginning it was oh so hard to put myself out there, to allow myself to surrender to him. I feared rejection. I feared being hurt. I didn't want what was so important to me to be belittled, or misunderstood. I wanted him to understand, and I'll always love him for understanding so very well. 

The longer we are at this, it becomes so much easier and yet so much harder. Easier to submit. Easier to obey. Easier to trust. And it becomes so much harder in other ways. Meeting his high expectations. Submitting to a punishment. The thought of being separated from him. Not just taking those walls down, but leaving them down.