Sunday, October 29, 2017

The Alpha Submissive?

Hey there, readers.

Phew, this was a busy week. I enjoy taking some time to reflect on our D/s dynamic on Sunday. I put down whatever book I’m working on and don’t write or revise or do any business-releated things. We had a family function, though, and I’m wiped, so I'm keeping this post fairly short and to-the-point.

Tonight I’ve spent a little time looking at inspirational pictures and quotes, and reflecting. This week, I knew what I wanted to write about before the week even started, because I’d been chatting with some other submissives, and it’s refreshing to know that I’m not the only submissive who really doesn’t have a very submissive personality.

You see, I used to more so, back when my day to day jobs required me to serve.  I had little babies that would get up at night, and my children were still heavily dependent on me. Though my children still need me, they’re far more independent now, and though I still do serve them, things have changed. 

I now run things a great deal of the time. I’m in charge of our schedule, for the most part, and the jobs that I do as well (teaching and writing). So much of my day is focused on running things, that I don’t easily slip into a submissive head space like I used to.

It used to be that Jason would come home from work and I’d be eager to kneel and take off his shoes. My entire demeanor would shift into that of his submissive – serving him, deferring to him, following his head. Now, I need to almost be forced there. Since he’s trained me to obey him, it is not always challenging to follow his lead, but to reach a state of deep submission, I need so much more from him.

I still want it, though. And I think I need it even more than I did before. 

I love when I'm submitted to him. I love when he takes charge. I love having that delicious freedom in just letting things go. I love the powerful feeling I get when I face something that is difficult for me to submit to and I keep my temper, obey, and handle things maturely. I love how I feel after he's lovingly disciplined me and I'm in my quiet place of gratitude. 

There are those of us who are wired to be naturally submissive, and those of us who aren’t. I'm pretty opinionated and can be quite feisty. I don't submit in any other area of my life except with Jason. I don't have a passive personality. It just isn't me. And it’s not all about personality, either, as I can easily attest. Sometimes, what’s required of us on a day to day basis very much factors into how easily one can submit. Those who primarily function in acts of service find that continuing to do so for our dominant partner is far easier than when we’re in charge.

My best friend Maisy said a few weeks ago, “You’re really like the classic C.E.O. who needs to let her hair down when she comes home from work.”

I’m not sure Jason has really understood all this… how much harder it is for me to submit that it used to be. He knows when I need him to dom me harder, I’m just not sure he really understands the why behind what I need. He doesn’t much care about the why, though. I’m fortunate in that if I need him, most of the time if I explain that need to him, he understands. Me, I like to delve a bit deeper.

Though obeying rules and instructions isn’t very challenging, since it’s so habitual to follow his lead, what is harder is serving him. Kneeling. Bringing him his coffee. What is also hard is obeying an act of submission. Sexual submission. Saying “yes, daddy.” Lying over his lap.

I came across this quote, and I’ve been giving it some thought.






I really think this is true for me. I may seem like I have It all together or whatever… but never in my life have I needed his dominance more.


So this week, he’s changed things up. He wants me totally stripped for morning check-in. Let me tell you, when he’s fully clothed and I’m not, it’s very sobering indeed. So nearly every day this week, check in was like this.

He sits on the bed, fully clothed, and waits for me to strip. He makes me kneel, and I go over my rules. Then he places me over his knee, takes his implement, and says “count out each swat I give you.” It hurt like hell, but at the end of a check-in like that, I’m totally in a submissive mindset. He spanked me so firmly it almost felt like punishment...but I needed that. 





Tomorrow is Monday.. and I have much to do. A work plan, a house plan, a full calendar. Tonight, he’s told me he’s going to spank me before the week begins (and to be honest, it really is punishment). But I think on the verge of going back full throttle, as much as I really, truly do not want it, I think it is the very thing I need.


Sunday, October 22, 2017

Punished. How could I forget how this feels?

It’s been a long time since I’ve been really, really punished, so long I’ve forgotten what it’s like.

I come in on a Friday night and I’m exhausted. My kitchen is a mess, so I start cleaning it up, putting things away, when Jason comes downstairs. Without thinking, I spout off a snarky comment. In two quick strides he’s next to me, one arm wrapped around me and with the other… whack! … he hands a searing swat on the seat of my jean-clad backside. I blink, startled, and hang my head, immediately put in my place as he whispers in my ear, “You do not talk to me that way,” and gives me stinging ass a little squeeze as a reminder.

I nod and apologize. Instantly repentant. I was out of place and he put me right back in my place. I’m quiet and humbled, and when he brings it up a little bit later, I apologize. We’re good now. I get ready for bed, and I’m still a little humbled, but I’m feeling different things now.

I haven’t been punished in so long, the hard swat has brought up a longing in me that I truly can’t deny. I sort of... miss when he used to punish me. I don’t even try to decipher the weird contradiction. I never did actually like being punished. But I miss his calm, stern authority, and I needed that reminder.

But now twenty-four hours later, I’m laying in bed, awake, and he’s sleeping.

I broke a rule. It was before he’d even swatted me, but I forgot to tell him. And now… now I’m facing a very real punishment. He’s still asleep, and I can’t tell him until he’s awake, later. And I will be punished. He doesn’t let things slide when I break a serious rule, and it’s a serious one I broke, not intentionally but because I wasn’t focusing. I should have been focusing.



But now that I know I not only need to confess, but I’ll be punished for it, I don’t feel so attracted to this punishment thing anymore.


It was all well and good with a swat. But…this will be more than a swat. I get myself a cup of coffee and muster up my courage. I chat with a submissive friend, who sympathizes and even says she breaks the same rule and is punished for it sometimes, which really does help.


Finally, he’s awake. I bury my head on his chest so I don’t have to look at him.

“I have a confession to make,” I say, my voice shaking a bit. I do not want to do this so badly, tears already cloud my vision. He doesn’t let me get away with the hiding, but reaches for my chin, lifts my face, and makes me look him in the eyes.

“What is it? What do you have to tell me?” he asks, already stern and serious, his blue eyes focusing on me with the dominance that I crave but makes me squirm under the full penetration of his glare.

It’s so much better in the books. In real life, I want to crawl under the covers and pull the blanket up over my head.

In a rushed whisper, I tell him. He nods and listens, and now he lets me bury myself back on his chest. “I’ll spank you for that,” he says. “Why did you do it?” And I explain as he listens, and you know, he’s sweet about it. In his quiet, steadfast way, he asks me why he has rules for me. I tell him, tears starting, as I know he loves me so very much. He says he understands, but that a good spanking will help me remember to be good.

He’s right. I know he is. But there’s so much that goes on with a punishment. It hurts. I cry. And when it’s a serious punishment, I have a bit of an emotional hangover that takes some time to dissipate.

I hate being punished. I hate knowing I did something worthy of it.

But, this is why it works, too. At least in part.

When the time comes, he calls my name, and my stomach drops to my toes. I ask myself for the millionth time, why did you want this again?

The other night when he swatted me, I’d forgotten all this. My feet, lead weights, as I drag them upstairs and he waits for me. The way he looks at me when I come in the room, and says, “Lay over the edge of the bed.” The way my hands tremble when I bare myself for him, and the sense of sadness I get when my belly hits the bed instead of his lap. Over his lap, I can bear punishment more easily, with the warm assurance of his presence underneath me. Over the bed, this is sheer punishment. But, I obey. I have to. We do this for so very many reasons, and I’m not turning back now. Bared, still trembling, I hold the bedspread in my hands as he picks up his belt and stands behind me.

One direct question this time, with no real lecture. He asks why he’s going to punish me. I answer, close my eyes, and he begins. It stings, it burns, every smack of his leather belt making me come to the tops of my toes, it hurts so badly. Over the bed, strapped like this, I have nowhere to hide, no excuses, there’s nothing but me, my guilt, and his leather belt.

He doesn’t spank long, but firmly, before he lays his belt down and I hear the drawer to his desk slide open. Out comes the wicked plastic cane thing. It’s a found implement, one that has a whippy flat end and a thuddy other end. He uses both, until I can hardly stand it. My tolerance is gone. I can’t take this anymore. And then he’s done. And I’m crying, rubbing the heels of my hands in my eyes like a little girl, the tears flowing freely as he climbs up on the bed and says, “Come here now, baby.”

There are some who say that aftercare mitigates the effects of punishment. I wonder if they have ever been spanked by someone they love more than life itself.

Yes, now I’m climbing up in his arms blubbering all over him without apology, and he’s holding me to soothe me, running his warm, strong hands over the sting and ache, and telling me he loves me. Yes, now I want to crawl right up inside him and hold him so tight it hurts, my arms wrapped around him as I sniffle out my repentance. Him holding me like this does not make me want to be punished. No. It makes the punishment bearable.

After some time, my tears abate and I’m with him in the quiet, but our day is young yet. So I wipe my eyes and go about my day, with a quiet, humble spirit.

I’m not quite over it until the next day, when I finally wake up having slept it all off. I’m no longer sad, but quiet. Humbled. Determined to do better. In love. Thankful.

Punishment is both everything and nothing I remembered, and I’m once again reminded of how challenging, yet rewarding, it is to be his submissive. 



Sunday, October 15, 2017

An emergency situation and how we handled it

Hello there, readers. I took last week off because I had a health issue (which I’ll tell you about in a minute), and because I was traveling. Thankfully, the crazy hustle and bustle of fall routines starting up again has settled into good routines for all. Jason and I are in a fantastic place. After we hashed out our distance from a few weeks ago, we’ve put some systems into place. We know that for us, check-in’s have to happen with regularity. We need to intentionally carve out the time we spend with each other. Last night, we had a lovely in-house date, and I’m feeling very content today. Life is good.

But about a week and a half ago, we had a pretty traumatic event happen. I mention it here on this blog because it put both me and Jason through the test with our roles.

So it was a day like any other. My older, somewhat snarky teen-aged son had come home from school and was in a mood, and he hadn’t done what I’d asked him to yet. I came upstairs from turning over the laundry, and he was gaming. Grr. Not happy, I asked him to finish his chores, and he gave me an attitude about it. He’s a good kid, and we don’t have a lot of friction, but sometimes it happens. He came barreling out, grabbed the recycling he was taking out, and was so loud I got worried he’d disturb Jason on his conference call upstairs. So I turned the corner, came up behind my son, adrenaline rushing as I told him to keep it down, and I went to smack the storm door open. My aim was off. The door was old. My hand smacked the glass and my hand and arm went straight through.

It was bad, you guys. Really pretty bad. Glass everywhere, abrasions all along my arm and hand, some really deep. I don’t do blood very well and it scared the hell out of me. 

I screamed to Jason to help me and I’m not gonna lie.I lost every shred of self control. I totally lost my mind. I was petrified. It hurt like hell. There was shattered glass and blood everywhere, all over me, and once glance at my hand terrified me. I was so afraid that I’d severed a tendon, damaged myself so badly I’d hurt my writing career… I was a wreck. Jason, from the top of the stairs, only heard yelling and smashing glass. He came down, and didn’t understand right away what had happened.

Like a lunatic, I yelled at him to grab some towels, anything, so I could stop the bleeding and see if I needed stitches. He grabbed a towel, sat me down, and bandaged me up as best he could, but he knew I had to go to the hospital for stitches.

It was not pretty. 

I was not submissive. I was terrified. Looking back on it now, I’m pretty sure I was in some sort of shock. I told him there was no fucking way I was going to the hospital. I don’t really know why I said that, honestly. I was sobbing, he was growling at me and telling me to listen to him, and I was telling him off.

I never do that. I really really lost my mind.

Weirdly, when one of my kids gets injured, I handle it just fine. Very calm. When it happened to me, I did not. Finally, after I was bandaged up and heading to the hospital, he leaned down to me and hissed in my ear, “You are going to the hospital whether you want to or not. And when you come home, you’re getting the worst spanking you’ve ever gotten. Your temper caused this, and this was totally preventable.”

So… yeah. 

He hates to see me injured. He hates to see me in pain. I’m not allowed to lose my temper.

But…I knew that I hadn’t lost my temper. I really hadn’t. It’s the truth. I’d smacked the door from behind my son. Yeah, I wasn’t all sweet and calm and adrenaline was pumping, but I wasn’t in a temper at all.

Hours later… seven stitches later… sigh… the kids were getting ready for bed. I was home, and took some pain meds, and laid down next to Jason. This entire time I hadn’t had a single sweet daddy word from him. He was totally Very Stern Dom. And I was feeling so sad. Devastated, really. I couldn’t use my hand, and I couldn’t write. I was just shy of finishing a book. I was traveling to a family wedding in two days. All I wanted to do was climb up on his chest, bawl my eyes out, have him hold me, and be his little girl. But it didn’t happen.

I talked to him about what happened, and he was still angry. He said, again, “You could’ve hurt yourself worse or someone else, and I can’t believe how you talked to me. You were so out of line, and tonight, there is no question you deserve a serious spanking.”

I don’t even remember the last time I got a serious spanking. It was months and months ago. And to be brutally honest, I did not think I deserved a spanking. 

I was devastated. But I also recognized that I’d put him in a really tricky position. He still thought I’d lost my temper and caused the injury. And I’d sworn at him. Screamed at him. Disobeyed him. Finally, with a sigh, he said, “We have these rules for a reason. I discipline you for a reason, so that at times like these you focus on me and let me take care of you, and you didn’t.”

He was right. But I was so sore. I was exhausted. I was already crying, and sorry for having lost my mind. And I really didn’t even mean to lose my mind like that. I was ashamed, really. I so did not want a spanking. He went downstairs to see my sons to bed, and I laid on my bed and just cried. I chatted with a good friend, who agreed with me that I’d not been in the right frame of mind when I lost it. “It’s shock,” she said. “You reacted in shock.” I really had. I knew in my heart it was right, and I wasn’t just trying to get out of punishment. I’d been terrified. And when he hadn’t understood how badly I’d been hurt at first, I’d gotten angry and desperate.

So, upstairs and alone, I couldn’t help crying. And finally, I made up my mind. I knew I didn’t want a spanking. I knew I didn’t think I deserved one. 

But I also knew that Jason is my leader. And the man loves me so, so much. It killed him to see me hurt. Killed him. He did not want to punish me. If after all that, he still decided I needed to be punished, I decided I would take it. I had to. 

After all… what was the worst that could happen? I’d been punished before. I’d survive. And I would not drive a wedge between us. I would trust him to take care of my needs, including punishing me if he thought I needed it. 


So, I brought myself downstairs to see Jason. I sat down on the footstool near his chair, and he reached for my hand. “How are you feeling, honey?” I broke down in tears again, because it was the first tender word he’d spoken, and I was craving the sweet daddy side of things so badly. I told him I hurt, a lot, but that more than anything I was upset about the idea of being punished. I promised him that I hadn’t been in a temper. I told him that I really thought I’d been in shock, and it was the terror that caused me to lose my self control.

It takes enormous self control to submit. I didn’t have it then. I hated that I didn’t… but looking back, I can honestly say that I didn’t.

So, I laid it all out for him. But then I told him the truth. “I love you. I’m so sorry. And I’ll do whatever you tell me to. I don't want to be punished, but if you think I should be, I'll submit.” I had truly decided I would.

Finally, he nodded, smiled at me, and pulled me into him for a hug. “You weren’t in your right frame of mind,” he said. "I know that now." I nodded, so relieved he understood. And then he said, "I’m not going to punish you.”

You guys, I sobbed. I was so emotionally exhausted. It had been a very trying day.


He brought me upstairs and helped me get ready for bed. I fell asleep almost instantly, after a very short time with Jason.

I can type again now. I’m still not fully recovered, but every day I get better and better. It’s remarkable how quickly the human body can heal. I’m being careful not to overdo. And things with Jason and I are back to normal.

Somehow, after all that? I've been in a very submissive frame of mind, even during my most hormonal times (when I'm usually kind of a lunatic). I've obeyed him, and followed his lead, and submitted.  He didn't punish me, but knowing that he would, and knowing that he didn't, knowing that he loved me and wanted what was best for me... well, there's nothing that will make me want to obey him more. I didn't need to go over his lap to get me there. 

I decided after some thought that I needed to share this story, because it’s just another one of those real-life example of how things don’t always work as planned. Sometimes, we don’t really know how to handle things. But when we focus on open communication, truly listening to each other, eventually, always… peace reigns.