Monday, January 7, 2019

Ringing in the New Year (hint: over his knee)

Happy New Year, everyone! 

I took some time off over the holidays, as it was time to put the laptop away and connect with family and friends. We had a lovely holiday, and I’m so looking forward to the New Year. 

By the time last weekend rolled around, boy was I ready for a check-in. We haven’t been consistent with check-in’s. Between his schedule and mine, and the extras in our schedule, we’d been sorely neglecting to check-in. I was feeling a little ornery around the edges and really in need of some daddy time. 

My sister (who is also a submissive) gave my husband a gift for Christmas with a wink. “This will have a dual meaning,” she said. It was a gift card holder with a spinner on it that says “naughty” or “nice.” Jason got a gleam in his eye when he spun it and looked at me. So yesterday, we agreed it was time for a thorough check in. I’d been working, and hadn’t gotten ready for the day fully yet, and was still wearing my glasses. So he took them off. 

“Is this like my super hero costume?” I asked him. “You take off my glasses and now I’m like Superman?” 

“Super Sub,” he said. “You’re Super Sub.” Ha! We went over my rules and he pulled out the spinner and put me over his knee. Every time he spun “nice” he gave me a good spank with his wand. Every time he spun “naughty” I got a wicked whack. Hmph. He spanked me long and hard, and boy did I squirm and fight it. I needed it, though, and he knew it. I didn’t really like it at all, but I felt a lot better when he was done. 

And now I’m contemplating the New Year. What my goals are. My plans. What I hope to achieve in 2019. I wrote them out last weekend, and came up with a plan.  (I’m a big goal setter and Jason helps me with that. I’m not sure if readers are interested in how that works for us, but if anyone wants a detailed post, please let me know and I’ll write that). Jason went over my goals, and I’m going to ask him for a good Clean the Slate Spanking again. 

It’s sort of our ritual, and I do love those rituals. I was sort of cruising along, enjoying life, and comfortable at the place where we check in but trouble is very real. 

Then Thursday night, everything came to a screeching halt. I broke a rule, and it was an important one. I could’ve prevented it, but I was stressed about something and I let my focus slip. I made a poor decision, it resulted in a split-second decision that was  not a good one. I broke a pretty major rule and I knew I had to tell Jason. 

I tried to justify things in my mind. It’s just a normal human reaction. I mean, no one likes facing real consequences. 

“Maybe he’ll cut me some slack,” I thought, but even before I completed the thought I knew the truth. He was not going to grant me mercy. 

So finally, the kids went to bed and I told him I had to tell him something. He usually lies in bed next to me and lets me tell him what’s on my mind while I’m laying down beside him or snuggled up on his chest. Sometimes I need to feel his strength to get up the courage to confess. 

So I fessed up. He was stern but kind, and simply said what I expected. “You shouldn’t have done that and you know how I feel about it. You also know I’m going to have to punish you.” I knew it, so I just nodded. I did sorta try to talk him out of it. “I’ve been really good…and we’re going to do our clean-the-slate spanking anyway… and I did realize my mistake…” 

But he knows what I need even when I don’t want it. “We’ll do our clean-the-slate another time. You are not getting away without getting a spanking for this.” 

I knew he was right. We didn’t wait, but got It over with right then, and let me tell ya, it was awful. It wasn’t long, but intense. I’d forgotten how hard it was to take a really hard spanking, since they’re pretty rare here. I was struggling and asking him by the first hard smack but like a good Dom, he didn’t stop there. He knew I deserved a serious spanking, knew I deserved a serious spanking, but you know…the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak and all that. 

It was too intense for me to let go during the actual punishment. This was no slow and steady cathartic spanking. There was nothing but intentional, though controlled, punishment we both knew I deserved. And I know if he hadn’t punished me, something would’ve been off. We do this for a reason, and I need that firmness from him. He lectured me seriously, and spanked me until I got the message loud and clear. 

Aftercare was beautiful and intimate, as it often is, and I went to bed spent and thoroughly humbled. 

The next morning, though. Man, I forgot what it was like to be punished like that. What it feels like the next day. I woke up humbled and quiet, but I had work to do, and we were expecting furniture delivered. So I put off my feelings and focused on what I had to do. This was a mistake. 

Because it had been a long time since Jason really punished me, he forgot what I needed. He went about his day, too. And something stressful came up involving our furniture delivery, so I went to him to tell him. He was working, I caught him at a bad time… oh, boy. It was not good. He snapped at me. I had no idea I was as vulnerable as I was, until him snapping at me totally made me crumple. 

I left the room and cried my eyes out. He was working, in a conference call, and it wasn’t until I was a total sobbing mess that I realized what was happening. Sub drop. 

I got punished the night before, neglected to realize I was a sensitive, vulnerable mess who needed her daddy, and because he was out of the routine, too, he failed to see what I needed. Classic sub drop happens after a BDSM session. Domestic discipline isn’t BDSM, but the hormone levels are frequently similar, so submissives often have the same reaction after punishment as they might after a session. Endorphins run high and then drop, leaving the submissive in a vulnerable state and highly emotional. 

I reached out to him and told him I needed him. He said his meeting was over, and told me to come up. I went upstairs, a blubbering mess of feminine hurt and submissive sadness, feeling much more “little” than I have in a very, very long time. He took one look at me and sort of got an “oh, boy,” look on his face, like “what the hell did I just do?”

To his credit, he shut off his computer and took me right over to the bed, held me up to his chest and hugged me. The stern, demanding Dom demeanor was gone, and the nurturing side came out. He called me his “little one,” and asked me to tell him what was going on. I soaked his shirt sobbing my eyes out and blubbering about not realizing what a mess I was, and how I needed some TLC, and how when he snapped at me it killed me because all my reserves were gone. He listened and apologized. I wasn’t really upset with him, though, just hurt, and I don’t blame him because he was as out of practice as I was. 

I didn’t need that much attention. He held me until I stopped crying, and gave me some specific instructions. Before I left, he checked on my emotional state, and all day long he texted me, checking in on me and gradually, as the day went on, I started feeling like myself again. In the days following this, he was attentive and I was on my very best behavior. 

Phew. Way to ring in the new year! 

It was a good reminder, though… why we do what we do. How we handle things when they happen. And why it takes two to work through the ins and outs of this dynamic. 

And it left me thankful, so thankful, for what we already have. It was a hard situation, but when we build a dynamic built on trust and communication, even during trying times, we have a beautiful opportunity to draw together again. 

Monday, December 17, 2018

What Only a Dom Can Give

It’s been days and days since I’ve connected with Jason in a way that’s meaningful and important to us. 

A proper check-in that isn’t rushed. Where I kneel and go over my rules in a way that’s contemplative, not rote. Kneeling before him and accepting my place as his submissive, allowing myself to embrace his dominant side. Going over his lap in surrender, my worries and fears and anxiety seeping away as my belly hits his knee. Allowing my mind to empty when I embrace his authority and guidance. Centering spanking that hurts but heals, that beautiful contradiction. Giving myself over to who I fully am, that I don’t really, truly understand, but accept nonetheless. The swish and thud of his implement or sting of his palm, the ultimate act of dominance and submission. A heart that’s light and untroubled. My body, scarred with child-bearing and decades on this earth, marked with love. Cherished and adored by the one man I kneel to.

It's been days and days since we’ve connected with intimate, self-giving love-making. 

And yet my heart is full. This year, I’ve felt blessed beyond measure with a houseful of children who bring me their hopes and fears and joys, and a husband who receives my own hopes and fears and joys with kindness and tenderness. I feel I’ve grown as his submissive, simply with lived experience. Failures and successes, shared sadness and loss, wonder at what we’ve accomplished and what we plan to do next. Memories made. Plans for the future. 

I’ve probably been punished fewer than a dozen times over this year. But I don’t really need much correction these days. After years and years of being Jason’s full-time submissive, and years and years of both of us actively engaged in our roles, my need to please him overshadows everything I do, and his attendance to my needs is as natural to him as breathing. 

Adapting to the changes life brings, with open and selfless communication, and meeting each other’s needs above our own, is what nourishes our dynamic. 

But I still need the intimate, erotic, personal connection I can only get from my Dom. 

So when the stresses of the day pile on me, and I look at the never-ending to-do list, I long for that connection. The intimacy. The surrender. 

I know if I neglect to tell him I’m in a place of needing him, my need will grow, and self-doubt creeps in. 

Why haven’t you made time for me? 

Doesn’t our relationship mean anything to you? 

Do you even want to be my Dom anymore? 

Don’t you love me? 

Logic tells me my fears are silly. He’s a busy man with a full-time job and the father to many. His love is as constant as the sun in the sky, and yet, I need to know. I need to feel. So when too much time passes without the connection I need, emotion trumps logic, and my silly fears surface. 

So I take myself to him. He’s sitting in the bed, reading, and I stand in the doorway. He raises his eyes to me. 

“May I please just explain something to you? Please listen without interrupting me?” This is a constant thing between us… he is so insistent on solving whatever issue I bring him, that he often cuts me off and tries to solve things for me before I’ve fully explained what I need to say. So I’ve taken to asking him to please listen to me fully. It doesn’t bother him. He doesn’t see it as rude or defiant. It’s just how I have to communicate sometimes. 

He nods. So I tell him what’s on my mind, a quick summary of what I need to do, and end with, “Without sex and a proper check-in, I’m starting to feel neglected.” 

“I understand.” He does. I know he does. And he does not want me to doubt him, so he will prioritize what I need, as best he can. We talk about my work commitments and his, what our morning looks like, and he makes his decision. 

“Come to me at nine o’clock. Stripped, kneeling, and ready for me.” 

I nod, and he gets a little stern. “Don’t be late.” 

I won’t. There have been enough times I’ve gotten busy doing what I had to and lost track of the time. Obedience matters to him. It matters to me. So if I don’t go when he says to, he’ll punish me. 

I have an hour before he wants me, to finish my post, prepare my to-do list, finish my morning work, then prepare myself for him. But my heart is already at ease. 

He knows what I need, and he’s going to make my heart right again.  

Monday, December 3, 2018

When tragedy strikes

Last week was a very hard week. 

At first I was going to ask Jason if I could take this week off from blogging, because I’ve needed to withdraw and regroup. But after further reflection, I realize I need to write about this, and I know this post will be a bit of a diversion from my usual posts. 

Last week was the final week of our kitchen renovation. So I had no sink or fridge access or stove while feeding a large family. It worked out (and our kitchen is now done!) but it was stressful. Then my kids got sick…every single one of them. These things come up, though, and you handle them. That’s what we do. But then I got news that devastated me.

Friends of ours lost their child in a tragic car accident. He was a senior in high school. A teen-ager. Just like my babies. My heart ached for my friends. 

I did what any good friend would do… reached out in support and prayer, ready to help with whatever they needed. I took some time off from my work and didn’t go online much. I needed to regroup. Grieve. I was quiet throughout the week, processing. Praying. Jason and I kept up with the normal flow of things. 

Friday night was the wake. There were so many people in attendance, the line to get into the funeral home wrapped all around outside, and the three hours it took us to get in felt like a sort of pilgrimage. My heart broke for the children who showed up in droves. They reminded me so much of my own babies, mourning the loss of a friend, comforting each other. And when I got to our friends, all I could do was say, “I’m so, so sorry. I love you,” and hold on as we wept together. 

Some of you, those who’ve read my blog for some time, may remember I lost my own father in a tragic car accident. I always grieve his loss at the holidays, and I felt that loss so keenly over the past week. 

Jason was home with our children, as he didn’t really know the people who lost their son the way I did and I went with my closest friends from my church. When I came home, he was ready for me. 

He asked how I held up. He asked how it went. He asked if I needed daddy time, or stress relief, or for him to hold me for a little while. I didn’t really understand it at the time, but I told him no. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want stress relief. I didn’t want to be held, or even touched. It confused me a little, but it was a very clear need of mine that I needed to retreat even from him. Jason gets me. We communicate openly and honestly and with such regularity, that although it surprised him a little, he respected that. He said, “Okay. I’m here when you need me.”

The next morning was the funeral. The funeral was far harder than even the wake had been. 

I arrived early and sat with my friends. The church grew so packed there was standing room only. The sheer amount of people who showed up to mourn the loss of this boy, to celebrate his life, and to pray for his family, was overwhelming. I wept for the children that came to mourn their friend, for my friends who now face the holidays without their youngest son, and for the certain knowledge that this life is temporary. That one day I will face more loss, for none of us escapes death or tragedy. Seeing a child pass away is such a vivid, painful reminder of our mortality. 

It was a beautiful, heartbreaking ceremony. 

I came home, and Jason asked again if I needed him. I told him no, not yet. I told him I couldn’t talk about it...that I needed to, but I wasn't ready. Again, he was confused but respectful of my need for space. Honestly, even I was confused. 

My kitchen was done, so I put it together, then I threw myself headlong into a thorough purge of my house. I wasn’t really sure why I needed to, but it was incredibly therapeutic. I’ve read that decluttering our lives with things we no longer need or love helps us make peace with the past. For me, it helped me not only make peace with my past but bring clarity to the present. Jason, once again, seemed to intuitively understand this. He brought the donations to the car for me, and even drove to the thrift store and carried it all in with me. He praised me for bringing order and beauty to our home, and that meant a lot to me because I bask in his praise like sunshine. Throughout the weekend, he kept telling me he loved me and thanking me for everything I did. 

A few times yesterday he asked if I needed my daddy. Instead of retreating, I began to open up a little. I said, “Yes, daddy,” and he hugged and held me. 

Then yesterday, I finally talked to him. I told him everything, about the wake and funeral, what I felt and thought, what happened and how it impacted me. We talked about so many things. Our faith. Our children. Our relationship. Our past. Our future. We talked for hours, and in the end all I could do was give thanks for the gift of my husband.

I began craving the connection of submitting to him. Of his dominance. He made me kneel, but there was no spanking involved. Instead of putting me over his knee, he let me rest my head on his lap and tell him what was on my heart. 

I didn’t realize until this morning why I needed to retreat. Why I needed to turn inward. At the end of the day, though he’s my Dom, the person I love more than life itself, though I adore everything about that man, Jason is a human being. Mortal, like all of us. And there will come a day when one of us has to say good-bye to the other. I was afraid at first I was internalizing my grief, burying it in a way that’s unhealthy. I wasn’t, though. Instead, I was turning to my faith. I don’t often speak much of my faith on this blog, because my readership is wide, and I accept that we all have different walks of life. I am a woman of faith, though, and during this past week, I needed the strength beyond what even my husband could give. 

This morning I woke up early. I turned to Jason and said, “I need a check-in this morning. Can we check in later?” He squeezed my hand and said, “Yes. Of course. Always.” 

Even though it may not seem like we were living our D/s life through all of this, we were. So much. The beauty of all this is the mutual give and take. Self-giving love. He was prepared to give me comfort and guidance. We’ve practiced honest communication so long that I was able to tell him what I needed and when, and he was able to respect that. 
Source: Picassa

There is no such thing as perfection. but every day there is something to give thanks for. Today, I give thanks for Jason, for loving me and guiding me and caring for me. For being my Dom. And I give thanks to you, my readers, for listening. Reading. Reaching out to me among your own struggles and pain and letting me know that I’m not alone.