Monday, October 29, 2018

And then he spanked me.

Last week, I posted about how badly I was craving a spanking. Jason was home on Monday, and he called to me from upstairs. I came to the foot of the stairs and he made a spanking motion with his hand. Code word for, “Are we going to check in?” I was busy with the kids and asked him, “Can you go read my blog post, please?”

He did. 

Later that day, he called me up. But I’d had a terribly stressful day, and some situations out of my control frustrated me to no end. I needed to talk to him and tell him what was on my mind. I was in a terrible headspace for a spanking, stressed and unfocused, but he insisted. I’d asked for his belt, and he was prepared to give it to me at a time when we actually had some privacy. He wanted me to take it anyway. So I leaned over the bed and took the spanking. 

But it didn’t help at all. I didn’t have the time to really talk to him, to really let go of what was bothering me, and I left the room surprised and a little perplexed, because the weight in my chest had grown instead of dissolving like a good spanking usually does for me. And I was sad that I’d gotten what I thought I needed but felt worse than I did before. 

He came down for dinner, and even though I had that delicious sting going on, I had a weight on my chest I couldn’t move. “I’m sorry,” I told him, because he’d really put in that effort and I didn’t want to neglect to thank him. “You gave me what I wanted, but I still feel terrilbe. I think I was just so worked up beforehand that it only made things worse.” 

I’ve used the analogy before of a dirty windshield. If you're driving a car with a dirty windshield, sometimes tossing a drop or splash of windshield wash on it smears things worse before they’re clean. You have to keep pushing, try again, use more solution and wipe those blades until your windshield is spotlessly clean and you can see again. Sometimes it’s not just a spanking we need. We need to follow whatever rituals get us into the proper headspace to begin with. We often need the full acknowledgement of what we’re doing and why, the follow through, and then the reconnection of a kiss, aftercare, or intimacy. 

Let’s be honest, though. We don’t live in Fantasyland. Things get in the ways. Deadlines, jobs, kids, phone calls, appointments, sleep. So often, we need to accept what we have and learn to cope without perfection. Cultivate a heart of thanksgiving. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t keep striving, though. I’m not advocating we demand what we want selfishly. It’s important to be grateful and at peace. However, it’s also important to delve deeply into what we’re aiming for. 

Recently, I listened to an excellent talk on defining our purpose. Why are we here? What are we doing? I ask a lot of probing questions on this blog, and I do it intentionally. Over the years people have told me, “Why ask why? If it works, do it.” Though I respect that and daresay it works for many, it doesn’t work for me. I believe we ask why, because when we understand what our ultimate goal is, our thoughts and actions have a greater purpose. I offer my own why on this blog not only to process my purpose, but to help those who have a similar mindset to understand their own. 

Why did the spanking I craved, asked for, and received, not satisfy me in the way I hoped? It was too rushed. I had too much on my heart and mind, so when I submitted to Jason, it was only physically. Mentally, I hadn’t really accepted this and for me, the psychology of submission is so much more deeply woven into who I am. So when he spanked me, he smeared that windshield, and I was left feeling worse than I did before he spanked me, and I hadn’t even been punished (which is much harder for me). 

We’ve been doing this long enough, that Jason understands all this, though. I got some time alone with him, and I shared this with him. “I feel terrible,” I said. “You gave me exactly what I wanted, but I feel worse than I did before. I’m sorry.” 

Thankfully, he gets me. Thankfully, he loves spanking me, so it's not a hardship to do it again. So he hugged me and said, “It’s okay. We’ll do it again. I’ll give you what you need, and we’ll keep at it until we get you where you need to be.” I was so grateful he wasn’t angry or frustrated, but patient. And I made up my mind I’d be patient myself. 

And the very next day, we had another opportunity for privacy again. This time, he took his time. He called me to him and had me kneel and held my chin between his thumb and finger so I could keep my eyes on him. He asked me to tell him what was on my mind, and I did. I cried a little. And when I’d poured out everything I needed to say, he went over my rules and reminded me of what he expected from me. 

He told me to go over his lap and took his time with a long, slow spanking. It hurt, but I needed it, and when I was done, he admired his handiwork and sent me on my way. This time, I felt calm and relaxed after he spanked me. This time, my heart was at rest and I felt the calm I crave from submitting to him. I don’t always. But I was so, so grateful he understood my needs weren’t really met the first time, and persisted until he did. 

Sometimes, that’s how it works. It isn’t always what we plan, but if we communicate effectively and honestly, we can keep on pushing on.

Blogging about how badly I needed him was the first step for me. The second was asking him to read that, so he knew what my needs were. But even then, we had to keep pushing. He didn’t take it personally, or feel frustrated. I was honest with my needs and what I craved. And today, several days later, the kids were all out of the house and he called me up to him again. 

“Strip,” he said, unbuckling his belt. I was nervous but eager, because I just can’t get enough. I asked him to warm me up first, because man does that belt hurt without a warm up, and he was happy to. A warm up for us just means a lighter spanking so I can take harder and longer, and harder and longer is what I crave when I’m dying for a good spanking with impact that hurts and lingers. He sorta just flicked the belt all over until I was good and ready, then spanked me with the tail end harder, until he worked his way up to doubling it over and giving me a good, hard spanking. 

This time, I felt that peace and satisfaction that comes from being spanked by him. There’s something about trusting him to take me there that satisfies me in a way nothing else does. I let him hurt me, but in a good way, in a way that helps me let go of what troubles me and live in this moment, and that moment is being at peace with the man that I trust. It makes me feel strong and capable to bear the marks of his belt and to know I took a spanking, and even now, as I can still feel the sting and burn, it makes me smile a little. He gets my unconventional cravings and takes me there, beyond what’s comfortable and normal, into the deeper part of what I need. And in so doing, he makes me feel loved. 

There’s a freedom in the surrender. There’s pleasure in the pain. And at the heart of it all, there’s love. 

I love being his. 

Monday, October 22, 2018

Make it hurt, please.

I am craving a spanking. 

A good, hard, take-my-breath-away-and-make-me-hurt spanking. 

And you know, I have to admit, it isn’t that I haven’t gotten any. I have. Jason has been as regular as clockwork with my maintenance. I haven’t broken rules. I’ve obeyed him and submitted. We’ve actually had a really fantastic week or so together. We went on a date, and talked about plans, and took the kids out, and spent loads of time connecting on all the levels lovers should. 

But my need for his dominance is so, so strong. Often, I’m totally satisfied because he never really takes his dom hat off. He expects me to obey, and I do. Yesterday he called while I was out and asked me to do something I didn’t want to (I thought it unnecessary) so I explained my position, and when I explained he just said calmly, firmly, “I wasn’t asking.” And I accepted that. 

He demands I keep eye contact when he’s talking to me, that I put my phone down and give him my undivided attention. I kneel, and he tugs my collar. We go over my rules and we have our rituals. He tucks me in and when I need that firm hand, he often responds with a good hair pull and snuggle. Sounds crazy. It really works, though. 

But sometimes…I want to hurt. 

Part of it is that I allow myself to get into the Dom/sub headspace all the time. I write the books. I blog. I read the books. And to me, it’s such a part of my psyche I can’t separate it from anything else. I'm not sad or grieving. Sometimes I need to feel the hurt because I am hurt. That isn't me today though.

I’ve been mildly stressed lately. It isn’t terrible stuff. Things are fantastic, actually. But we have both major house renovations and overnight guests coming in the next two weeks, and those things are always a challenge. I’m prepared. It’s just on my mind. 

I always have so many things on my mind. It’s just what so many of us do. 

So once in a while I crave that loss of control. I don’t just want a spanking. I want him to dominate me. I want him to put me over his lap and take his belt to me until my body is striped with his leather and it hurts to sit for days. He knows how to do it. How to make it sting and burn without being too hard on me, or, arguably worse, too easy. 

It doesn’t happen often, though, because we have kids in this house, including perceptive teens, so we have to be discreet. Maintenance involves quiet implements. The louder implements are the ones I crave sometimes. Usually his belt. Occasionally I crave the paddle, mostly when I am dying for that good, old-fashioned "put me in my place" spanking. But most of the time, it's his belt I want. 

When he gives me that good, hard spanking, it quiets my mind. It’s a physical reminder of his control, his dominance…his love. It reminds me that he’s a strong man, that he’s the one in charge, and even though I’m strong and capable myself, deep down inside I know I’m safe with him. That he will take care of me and protect me. That he won’t let my head spin out of control, my impulses take over, and he won’t let the things I sometimes say or do destroy this relationship we’ve worked so damn hard to build. 

When he spanks me good and hard it’s a mind/body experience. My body feels the lashes of his belt or the sting of his hand. My mind silences the little voices that sometimes plague me, my inner censor and self-doubt. My heart is at ease. 

After a good, hard spanking he always gives me attentive aftercare, holding me over his lap while he rubs out the sting. Sometimes there’s lotion, sometimes just him rubbing his hand along my skin. Then he holds me. Sometimes I need to cry, not because I’m sad, but because it’s a cathartic release of whatever I’m holding inside me. Sometimes I just sigh in contentment. 


 I’ll never fully understand why I need that intensity. I unpack it as best I can, and will continue to. 

But for now, all I need to know is that I need it. And I present that need to him. 

He sometimes knows I need it before I do. “I know what you need,” he’ll say. “You need a really good session over daddy’s knee.” 

Mmm. Yes.

This time, I recognized it first, though. I think it surprised him because he definitely has been spanking me lately. It’s just nowhere near as long, as hard, or as intimately as I’m craving. 

It isn’t all about me, though. So I’ll let it go. I told him. He knows. And now I trust him. 

Monday, October 15, 2018

Pulling back to center -- making it work with upheaval

Good morning, readers. I said last week that Jason is holding me accountable to weekly blogging, and he is. He just gave me permission to blog this morning instead of yesterday, when a few things came up that I hadn’t planned on. 

So…here I am! 😊

Lately, things have been in a bit of a state of upheaval here, and Jason and I are weathering through. Parenting teens is a tricky thing and although I really love it, it’s stretching us in many ways. Our teens are up later than they were when they were little. They need loads of attention, they need to talk and process things. They need rides hither and yon, and things like new sneakers and backpacks. Then our other non-teens have their own needs as well. Jason has his job and I have mine, we’re preparing for major renovation in our home, and travel and extended family visiting add more complications to the mix. 

Things are fantastic, though. Really. It’s just a busy, busy time, and for someone who thrives with consistency and structure, there have been times lately that I’ve been scrambling for purchase. 

This fall marks our sixth year living a full-time Dom/sub lifestyle. My, how things have changed. I always get a bit reflective this time of year. I love being Jason’s submissive and he says he loves being my dominant. We never really anticipated how things would change as the years passed. It’s become who we are. We’re most fulfilled in our roles, so we’ve learned to make this work despite the urgency of the moment with so many other things. 

And that’s it, isn’t it? When our time and energy and focus are called in so many directions, it becomes harder and harder to find time for each other. But anything that is worth doing is worth doing well, and anything that is worth doing well must be prioritized.

I think what is most telling over the years is the fruit we bear when we live this lifestyle. We’re happier. There’s less conflict. The erotic vibe in our marriage keeps the romance alive, and despite our aging bodies and the way we’ve changed, we’re as into each other now as we’ve ever been. More so, even. There’s something about growing together that pulls us closer. He still makes my heart go a-flutter with a mere look, and he still curls an arm around my shoulders when we go out together and calls me baby. 

So how do we make it work? We keep pulling ourselves back to center. 

Saturday we didn’t check in. I was busy, he was busy, and mid-morning I started getting grumpy that our routine was off. I said something off-hand and he snapped back at me, and we started snipping at each other. My heart was uneasy, and I was saddened. He was sitting at his desk at his computer. He wasn’t fuming—it wasn’t a big fight, but just a little spat—and I sat down beside him. I didn’t say anything, or even pout. I just quietly looked at him like, “I don’t want to fight with you.” 

And before I knew what was happening, he pushed away from the computer, pinned me to the bed, and kissed me. “I’m not going to fight with you,” he said. 

“Well then don’t,” I said back. “You’re taking what I said way too seriously.” 

He tipped me over and smacked my ass. “And you’re pouting.” 

I giggled, and he smiled, and then he tickled me. “We’re not going to make this a fight,” he said. 

I agreed. “That would be stupid and silly. I’m sorry I snapped at you.” 

“Good,” he said, pinning my wrists above my head. “Then behave yourself, and remember your rules. And don’t you dare come back here later and say this wasn’t a check-in.” 

He smacked my ass again, and let me go. 

Did we go over all my rules? No. Did he put me in my place with a good spanking over his lap? Well, no. But we stopped the silliness before it got out of control. We recognized that we didn’t want to fight, and that we had the control to stop this. So we did. He reminded me who he is, and I submitted to that. And he made me feel special. 

Sometimes that’s all it takes. A humble apology. Dropping what we’re doing and reminding each other who we are and why we do this. 

Sometimes it means we get a babysitter so we can go to dinner and talk alone, just the two of us.  

Sometimes it means shutting off Youtube and Netflix and locking the door and making love. 

Sometimes he sets his alarm early (I get up before him, so I don’t usually need to set one), because we have early morning plans that might threaten our check-in, and we want to make that happen. 

And sometimes our check-in ends up modified, and we have to settle for the drive-thru version and say, “Good enough.” 

Sometimes--and for me, I have to admit that's with regularity, at the very least every Monday morning--it means a good, hard spanking is needed to remind me who I belong to. 

Making this works means recognizing that our lives aren’t static. Children grow. Older parents grow ill and demand our time and attention. Our jobs change. We get pregnant and have babies, or sometimes we are the ones ill. Sometimes it means finding what isn’t working and fixing it. And when things are working well, we need to not take the good for granted, but find out why and continue to make things work. 

Sometimes It means finding the balance between prioritizing what we need, and not putting ourselves above all others. It means giving thanks for the beauty we already have and finding contentment with what we already have. 

Sunday, October 7, 2018

Putting me in my place

Hello, faithful blog readers! I know it’s been a while, and my posting has been inconsistent. Well, this past week I told Jason that something is missing when I don’t blog. Processing through our dynamic here helps fuel my submission in a way literally nothing else does. I am busy, pursuing my career, parenting these crazy kids of mine. Two teens now. It’s kind of crazy. And I considered giving up blogging. But after some soul-searching and talking with Jason, we decided that no, I really need to still do this. 

So he’s holding me accountable. Well, because that’s just how we do things here. He made it a rule that I blog on Sunday, and if I don’t, I’ll answer to him. 

I asked him to. I know it’s better for me—for us. So, rest assured I’ll be returning to Sunday blogging unless I have a very, very good excuse. Ha!

I got in trouble this week. Really, thinking back on it, I needed him to put me back in my place. I say that sometimes, and I know it sounds terribly old-fashioned or even wrong. He says it himself. “Remember your place.” But I never explained what that means. It doesn’t mean I’m below him or even subservient. Years ago, he told me, “Your place is by my side.” But it also means I keep my tongue, I defer to him, and I show respect. Why? Well, because we agreed he’s our leader. 

My mother-in-law laughed when I admitted I was stubborn this week. “Wow, you two must really get into it sometimes,” she said, knowing full well how stubborn my husband is. 

I just smiled. “Oh, we’ve learned how to communicate,” I told her. I didn’t tell her that that communication sometimes involves me belly-down over his knee. But she doesn’t need to know that. 

So this week, after returning from traveling, I dove head-first into what I needed to do. Work. Home. Soaking up my sweet children. Re-connecting with my man. And it was beautiful and perfect, and I loved it. But it’d been a while since I’d been spanked, and Jason said I needed to be eased back into it. 

In retrospect? I think what I really needed was for him to whip my ass good and hard. I’m just way too headstrong and independent. And yes, I’m asking him to read this blog post when I’m done. I’m not criticizing him, because I love and trust him. This is me processing what I need to process, and why I need to blog regularly. 

So when things are off, it’s often a good, thorough session over his knee that I really crave. 

I was exhausted and had much on my mind. I did laundry and dishes. I worked. I answered emails. I brought my kids to their lessons and extra-curriculars, cooked dinner and cleaned. Read stories and snuggled and spent time with my man. But I wasn’t quite myself. My routines were a little off, and I’m very much a creature of habit who thrives with structure and routine. 

So finally, things came to a head one night. I got angry at Jason. I said something to him, I didn’t like his response, so I lost my mind and swore at him. I stormed away, knowing I really really had crossed the line. He didn’t say anything though, and I felt terrible. I needed him to tell me to stop. To remind me to obey. But our teens were right there, and even though he mostly doesn’t care about asserting his authority in front of others, with teens it’s a tricky thing. 

I felt terrible inside. So when we were alone, I apologized. Jason doesn’t feel good and was exhausted himself, so I fully accepted that he might not give me the spanking I so richly deserved. I came upstairs and said, “I was rude to you, daddy. And I’m sorry.” 

He nodded and gave me “the look.” 

“You were,” he said. “And you’ll answer for that. I couldn’t do much in the moment, but you will be spanked. What’s our rule?” 

I whispered the rule I broke. “Be respectful to daddy.” 

He nodded. “Go get ready for bed.” I did. He was so tired. I was so tired. But he knows I do better when he puts me back to where I should be, and then we both sleep it off. So even though he was totally exhausted, he got out our hairbrush and ordered me over his lap. I shook a little. I haven’t been spanked much lately, and that thing hurts. 

He lectured good and hard while he spanked good and hard. Reminded me I was his. That we have rules for a reason. That even if I’m upset I’m never allowed to speak disrespectfully to him, and that he won’t tolerate disrespect. 

It was a brief, but good and hard spanking. Then he said, “now give daddy a kiss and go to sleep.” I cried a little, kissed him, put my head on his chest for a hug, and he kissed my forehead. He put the brush away and tucked me in. I still had really big feelings in my chest, and I don’t quite know how to describe them. I think It was really mostly very overwhelming to me. I don’t even remember the last time I was punished. It might have been weeks or months ago, and I think it was fairly brief. Punishment is so very different from any other spanking he gives me. 

I slept like a baby by his side. 

The next day, I felt a little subdued and thankful. Submissive. He can “put me in my place” better than I can myself. There’s something missing until he does. 

And this is why this works for us. It doesn’t work for everyone. It’s been six years next month since Jason and I started our dynamic, and as the years go by, I see how very differently people live their dynamics. For us, though, I need to be put in my place, and I’m oh so happy when I’m there.