My husband – C – will read this eventually, I’m sure of it.
He’ll admit he’s not a disciplinarian and doesn’t pretend to be one. In fact, he’s not particularly interested in methodic discipline, domestic or not. He likes spanking me because I squirm and wiggle and redden in a way that he finds particularly delightful when I’m over his lap. He doesn’t like spanking me when I frustrate and irritate him or disappoint him – he doesn’t ever spank me when he’s angry or hurt. And frankly, it’s easy to distract him when we’re making up (in a good way).
I enjoy those spankings, certainly. A lot. In fact, I’m frequently eager for more of them ... but they don’t qualify as ‘domestic discipline’ in any of its varied forms.
A point of fact is that I’m a particularly good girl. The house is (usually) tidy, if not precisely spic-and-span. Meals are (usually) prepared in time to eat them. The laundry is (usually) folded – sometimes a day late, but that’s another story. The baby is (usually) happy or entertained or otherwise receiving the attention she needs and deserves. I no longer, thank heavens, have academic problems, either my own or my students. And as of this writing, my job(s) are manageable on my own time (i.e. late at night when I should be sleeping).
I do have a smart mouth but he enjoys it. He says so, and enjoys the opportunity to pop a smack to my backside even more.
So why am I writing on a blog about the female’s perspective of domestic discipline (aka domestic punishment aka ten million other titles – see Mija's entry 'What do you call it?')
The truth is, I frequently do things that need done not because I’d be spanked (or otherwise punished) if I didn’t, but because I want him to be happy and comfortable and be able to enjoy himself, while at the same time satisfying my own interests. (Hmmm... here’s the lead-in to the sure-fire discussion question, ‘what is submission?’) But sometimes I want to be reminded that he cares enough about me to make certain I take care of myself and my interests and my needs (of course he does!) as well as the house, the baby, etc. Sometimes I want – need – to know that if I go too far, he’ll be there to pull me back to a middle road by one way or another. Sometimes, during the times I know how selfish and resentful and emotional I’m being because I can’t do what I want when I want, I need to hear him say, ‘Do you need a spanking?’.
Sometimes I answer ‘no’ when I should really answer ‘yes’.
So there are no rules (right now), no reports (I’m not bragging, I really feel for these poor overworked graduate students beside me and remember well the trauma they are enduring), and no outfit with accompanying corner time.
Still, I got spanked tonight. He was loose, relaxed. And I had a smart mouth – and used it.
The first time, he just pulled me out of my chair, hugged me, put me under his left arm and smacked me a number of time – still standing and fully clad – all over my bottom.
A few minutes later, I pushed some more. And when he came back and again pulled me from my chair, I had the audacity to say, “Will you do it right this time?”
And suddenly there I was, over his knee, my face in the sofa pillows and my bottom up on his thighs and my pants were down around my thighs. And he smacked hard – hard – harder... until I was whimpering. Later, after I had gone back to my chair, he asked, “Was it right this time?”
“Yes, thank you."
I think he hoped I’d go one more round but here I am again – the good girl.
Not naughty enough for punishment and too naughty to not need it.
That's sparkle in her nutshell.
