Sunday he let me finish a few projects before going upstairs. (unbeknownst to him and wrongly of me – one of the ‘projects’ online was the post I put out Sunday feeling anxious and wondering how I was every going to have his discipline saturate my heart. For me, I tend to post when I’m anxious.) I decided to head upstairs first. I replaced my usual thong underwear with granny panties or as I refer to it as: curve coverage! Once upstairs I very quickly removed some folded clothes off our bed. I didn’t want anything negative to ‘impact’ me. Then I brushed my hair because I was feeling anxious. He came up and joked and spoke dryly telling me to “assuming the position” – a line from the movie Animal House (from the scene in the militant frat house where the inductees are to say, “Thank you Sir, I’ll have another” after their severe swats with the Fraternity Paddle). I was a little dejected, emotions all over the place. I wasn’t up to finding my submission. Had I had time, I could’ve been prepared (again, my control issues pop up. I really prefer things happen predictably). So I wanted him to be gentle with me. After all I was hoping to be able to ‘come clean’ regarding Part II, posted on Friday. I needing coaxing. When he told me to get on all fours my heart sunk. I knew there was little chance for gliding gently to my confessions.
“What do we have to talk about?” This is D’s way of saying Come clean before I have to bring it up. It will go much better on you if you do. More so in our past, he’s been known to let things go for awhile. He wants me to be aware of my behavior. He doesn’t want to police my life. He’s hoping I’ll have awareness, not what he considers to be a parenting role he doesn’t want to assume. Me, I’d love him to just go for it. He seems to be more comfortable, more confident that it is up to him not to let things go. Back to Sunday (“What do we have to talk about,” he said.)
Mentally I had my arms crossed over my chest. I said, “Nothing.” We have joked about my ever-present halo when I respond that way. We both knew my halo was holographic, but most likely an illusion. But I could live with that. D made some motion encircling my head with his index finger.
“Hhmmmn” We are both into having the last word. Me more than he.You have to remember, we are both driven firstborns. “You should think again.”
“I swore at Bunco last night,” I offered up – a token answer at best. “It just came out.” I had no interest in what I was saying. I was mentally filing my nails.
“Well that’s not good.”
” I was talking about the stuff with the kids.” He was all torqued out of shape about something I thought was not a big deal. He thought it was terrible that I just popped out with swear words – vehicles for my anger. I thought it was far worse to know I wanted to use the word, was aware I should not swear, but I swore anyway. He felt if I was totally unaware of my next word I had real issues that needed to be dealt with. I felt that was completely ridiculous and showed it in my reaction.This turned into an argument. I think he just needed to establish his authority. His authority, imho,was a gift from me. He could feel it. I felt more like a highly irritated peer. I wasn’t interested in rolling over like our dog for submission and a tummy rub. Maybe because he took the initiative the spank me at the first possible chance, I felt more anger – “too little too late”.
“Do you think it’s smart to keep arguing with me?” I got angry that he couldn’t see or acknowledge that I had a point, so I shut down.
Fortunately, he wanted to understand, or maybe he took an emotional temperature reading. I was surprised at his reasonableness when he asked, “Why are you so upset about this!?”
“If I’m going to be punished for this, I want you to know my heart. I didn’t intend to swear. Yes I have anger issues, but they don’t apply here. This was me briefly reliving some difficult topics. Obviously I wish I hadn’t been swearing. But it’s not the same thing as my swearing issues awhile back when I was using bad language to spice things up and prop up my ego.”
“I’m not going to punish you for swearing. If you know what you did and why you want to change it the next time, there’s no need for punishment.”
I was in the position of all fours for what felt like hours before we began. I was getting bored and trying not to sigh out loud. I felt twinges of relief when he said, “Let’s get started.” He sounded as if he was carefree. I was still not giving up the farm and held onto my attitude because he sounded so benevolent with his last comment about ‘if I learned from my mistakes ….’. He makes me crazy when he frustrates me then jumps track and takes the high road. I know I also had a huge attitude about all that happened in Part I. I was also no fool and definitely anxious about his next move. He quickly removed my jeans and my pretend protection in one fell swoop. I felt vulnerable knowing he was all about business.
He may not have said and thought he had punishment in mind, but there was no warm up. The leather thorn paddle, at his side, never got used. It’s the easier of the two paddles he uses. It felt like I would break down and confess all because he used that horrible, thick hickory paddle with a confident swing! I couldn’t believe he thought this was ok! It had been three weeks – and all because of him! I was almost crying after the first few swat, from shock and the sting. The sting that thing packs is off the charts. I’d forgotten. I’m so glad he was really cool about rubbing me afterward the first ten on each side and even gave me a few kisses as he was sweet enough to distract me with compliments about my physique. I maybe middle aged, but I do justice to a pair of tightly worn jeans. It helped a lot to have his sweet words and his temporary breaks from paddling.
Eventually it was hard to gauge the amounts of swats he would dole out. Sometimes I counted, most moments were all about hanging on. I couldn’t have counted if more swats had depended on it. He really pushed me.
“Anything else?” He almost heard a smile behind his words as he put down the paddle and rubbed me. I was emotionally wrestling with the past, present and future – pain will do that to the woman who lives with a HOH. While I wanted so badly to unload this anvil of guilt I was carrying, I was also remembering why I felt like not telling him. I was now leaning into the pillows, my hands on my head as if I was holding myself together. I was breathing deeply. I wanted to say nothing, to be silent. I almost pulled it off but knew it was now or never. I had to do the right thing by me and by us. On all fours, I spilled, telling all – initial reasons, intentions, mind-set, and mountains of regret. I said how I felt so wrong when it happened, how I still felt awful. It wasn’t like me, I let my anger prevail. (I wasn’t using words like ‘prevail’, believe me.) I was miserable and my guilt clung to me like hardened wax. I just couldn’t shake it. I felt great shame.
He assured me he was aware of what happened that night. He was glad I’d told him a few days later. I was so surprised that the first words out of his mouth were not damning, but comforting. He told me not to beat myself up over it. He kept explaining that he had forgiven me and I should stop. But who better than me to do the job properly?
He/we continued doing ttwd. It was cathartic. Afterwards we made love. It always make me feel submissive when he’s takes me from behind me. He wasn’t gentle. I needed it to happen that way. I don’t understand everything I feel. I have few reasons why it would make sense. I am very aware that there’s a rhythm that keeps me sane.