"We're In A Place!"

SugarAnne has been absolutely radiant over the past few weeks. And this is remarkable because this is exactly this time of year that ever-increasing waves of depression tend to wash over our relationship. It is quite clear that her own developing “subdentity” is rising up to the surface. I am honored that she feels that she can trust me with this very vulnerable part of herself. She has developed a need for some form of spanking in our relationship. But she wants to avoid the very hard punishment spanking that my own rising Domdentity desires (on some level) to effectively administer. This lifestyle – it does something for her. That’s easy for both of us to see. And it does something for me as well. We are thriving. This has been probably the greatest season in our nine year marriage.

It’s possible that we won’t go much further into the domestic discipline part of this thing. The point we’re at right now – I assign her tasks, she completes them or receives a punishment spanking - we are both comfortable with. I am not unreasonable and she doesn’t feel like she's being suffocated. Some tasks are beneficial for making our home hospitable. Others are beneficial for her personal development. She likes that, and agrees that she needs the structure. I’m here to help. And help could mean a spanking. I have decided we will not be retreating from this approach in the foreseeable future.

I thought it would be fitting to make an official declaration of this fact. I wanted her to know that not only are we back in the saddle – after the past week – but also at a point of no return. And, of course, such an important declaration cannot be without “ceremony”.

Since it was a FridayWednesday, when I got home I asked her to make me a margarita. Also, to find some candles and to “girl up a notch”. She knows what that means. As I sip my drink she scurried off to choose a sexy silk black babydoll top I bought some time ago. It was a little more than a smidgen too small and her ample breasts threatened to escape. I was delighted. She placed the candles on the black granite countertop that separates the kitchen from the living area and lit them. I led her to the sofa in the den – our primary spanking venue – where she compliedand took a position of submission over my knee. It is only fitting that any declaration and ceremony would begin right here.

I began with gentle squeezes and loving caresses over rose colored bikini panties. Regulation. I lovingly told her how much I approved of the woman that she’d been revealing to me lately. She squirmed in agreement and pushed her roundness up in search of my gentle hand.

“Thatta girl”, I say as I lowered her panties. “Don’t be afraid to be a woman sweetie. I love seeing the woman in you”.

THWACK!

A low-level “mmmmmm” escaped her lips as she began to lose herself in the warm feelings rising from below. A long drawn out warm-up followed then the spanks flowed with ever-increasing intensity. They weren't so hard that she didn't want more, yet hard enough to reach the desired “sting” level. She could've taken more. But I stopped.

“We’re in this life sweetie”, I say, And “we’re not turning back. I love too much seeing the radiantly feminine and submissive woman in you. And as an official act and ceremony”, I declared firmly, “I’m going to “toast” your ass AND fuck you in every room of our home”. Her response, a surprised and joyful “mmmmmmmm”, filled the air. I commanded her to her knees on the den’s sofa. And as she leaned over the back of it with her ass pushed out toward me as demanded, I undid my pants and let them drop to my ankles. I took her – my hands on her hips, her panties stretched around her thighs - and I fucked her. Fucked her well, I say, like a man should fuck his woman. I fucked her and seized ownership of our advances in “this thing we do”.

The process began again and again as we moved from room to room: standing and bent at the waist over the living room sofa (while I looked out at the waves gently waxing the nighttime shoreline). Gentle squeezes and tender caresses to re-warm her tender globes, spanks long and drawn out that graduated into THWACKS - both hand and paddle – which built a fire on her ass and warm cream on her the walls of her sex. All the while I spoke to her about how she flourishes in this life - in submission; about how radiant she is when she allows her femininity to bubble up and overflow. “This is what it’s like to be a woman sweetie" I say to her, "to feel like a woman, to be loved like a woman, and made love to like a woman.” Followed then by the fuck of ownership, and a willful surrender that testified, “I’m yours. Please take me”.

The final stop on our ceremonial tour was the bedroom. There I placed her on her knees over a stack of pillows. With the lights on I could see the moistness of her arousal, the moistness of the tease she has endured so far. I sniff her like a predator, kiss like a lover, lick her like a tomcat at a fresh bowl of milk. And I then proceed to warm those buns up yet again, with ever-increasing intensity, until she can stand to be paddled.

It was there – in the bedroom - I took her again. But this time we made love. We made wild and lustful, passionate and tender love as we concluded the ceremonial declaration of “this thing we do”.

Her deepest feminine tendencies and my wildest masculine desires are yet to be fully discovered and tapped. But “were in a place!” right now - her words. “A damned good place!” My words.

"Pack It Up For Now?"

Well, he’s finally arrived. “Clyde”, that is. Showed up yesterday morning. With his intrusions: his big purse; his bad cramps; the burdened face; and those damn granny panties. His messenger however – PMS – pretty much disappeared for 2 days after I kicked his ass. Is that normal? A cure for PMS?! How can this be?! Or is it just part of this glorious honeymoon we’re on?

This is our first go around with this character in the house. I was wondering: how do you feel about giving spankings and/or receiving spankings during this dreaded intruder’s visit? Or do you prefer to just pack it up/be packed away until he leaves?



Photo Credit: katoeycrazy

"I Suspect 'Clyde' Is Coming Home"

If the slog was on schedule like he’s supposed to be, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. But sometimes he catches us by surprise. But even then it’s not so bad. Even then the worst part are the cramps. I used to chart his arrival but he’s just been too erratic over the past couple years. Rather than every 28 days, the bum shows up whenever he wants to. Most times he sends a messenger: depression, anxiety and – oh my God! – easy irritation and emotional hyper-sensitivity. “Clyde” himself is not so bad. But his messenger? I wanna kick his messenger’s ass. We have a sneaky suspicion that “Clyde”, her monthly “visitor” – that bum - is coming home. I’ve been trying to deal with this tramp’s intrusions for ten years. And for the most part he’s been flipping me off double time.

I imagine it COULD be the seasonal depression I mentioned in my previous post. Maybe I spoke too soon. Yesterday she woke up in a funk. She seems like she’s headed for the cliff. She’s doing everything she can to avoid the drop. She’s plugged in that huge sun lamp she bought last year. Light therapy they call it. The thing shines like a fucking nebula. Just the glow from under the bedroom door will have you absentmindedly pulling down shades and reaching for light switches all over the frickin house. I mean seriously! A little heavenly music and you’d think dear little baby Jesus – the LIGHT of the whole world – was in there with her. But it helps. I don’t think its depression though. I KNOW those storm clouds when I see them. I suspect “Clyde” is coming home.

I’ve been anticipating this challenge since we started exploring TTWD. I’ve wondered how I would approach it. I’m not asking a bunch of questions so I can locate the “problem” and announce it to her. When you tell a woman she’s PMSing it NEVER seems to help. No matter how right you are. Amen? Amen. I just want to let her know that she is loved – in spite of this nefarious visitor.

So I gave her a little boost physically – pressing my naked frame down upon her comforter-covered body. I jumpstarted her emotionally – singing a poor parody (and I mean poor) of “The Shadow of Your Smile”, i.e. “the shadow of my ass…” (because of that bright ass light casting a shadow on the curtains) “…is in the window”. It helped, if only a little bit. But I did notice a gleam in her eyes (in spite of the supernova over there) when just before I leaving for work I said, “Maybe I’ll rub your booty when I get home. That might make you feel better”. She looked up at me with a soft smile and a ray of hope and nodded, “Mm hm”.

When I got home she was still a bit bummed out. And “Clyde’s” not home – yet. Cool. She’s wearing regulation panties when I walk in the door. This is rare. But she promptly puts on her jeans. I figure she doesn’t want her wired spanko husband to get the wrong idea. The last thing she needs is a “good girl” spanking gone bad.

We have had two very difficult – for her and for me – punishment spankings last week. But last night I gave SugarAnne a lovingly firm, paddle peppered, over the knee “good girl” spanking of therapeutic proportions. Pushing her behind up on command she willingly took all that was given. And when I was done she willingly gave all that I could take. And she felt much, much better.

I still suspect “Clyde” is coming home. And he'll always intrude. But for right now, I’ve kicked his messenger’s ass!

A 21 Day Salute

It’s been 21 days since we seriously began exploring “this thing we do”. I’m still assessing my developing Domdentity. And SugarAnne her Subdentity, I suppose. We both must be wondering how far we may want this experiment to pervade our relationship. I’m personally wondering if this exploration will confirm us spankos, or perhaps, show us the swinging gate when the domestic discipline joy ride is over. And to that end I have to ask: Has this been good for us? Not just a good experience, but good – for our relationship.

Before we began this of TTWD our life was in serious – I mean serious – turmoil. We were barely speaking nearly 3 weeks running. We had “issues” but I couldn’t bring them up. SugarAnne suffers with depression – most notably as summer fades to fall. A bout of depression could be triggered at any moment. I had grown reluctant to address our issues for fear of triggering an episode. She “disappears” when she’s depressed. So I bottled up a lot of the things that concerned me. Consequently, I was lugging around a truckload of resentment and aggravation. Add to that our sex life. Nature, it seems, found great joy in dealing us the Joker. Some kind of cruel joke had been played on our sex life. What I desired – and needed – irritated her. And what she desired - and needed - she wouldn’t communicate. So I shut down – not strategically but as an unavoidable consequence.

We were in dire straights, living like two roommates who wanted to but couldn’t reach each other. Our marriage had always been built on three things: commitment to God; commitment to marriage; commitment to love. I began to check the structure of our marriage. The foundation was there: a commitment to God – still strong. But the pillars – commitment to marriage and commitment to love – were screaming for a sealant. Cracks were evident. I don’t like the idea of divorce – who does? But thoughts were beginning to sneak in to my consciousness. Then we had this talk.

Over the past 21 days exploring TTWD has been a spark to communication. As we seriously consider this lifestyle we have been inspired to share our feelings about it – both likes and dislikes. We have had open and honest communication on other things as well. We have had genuine love and affection. And we have made wild and passionate love.

If it were up to her they’d all be “good girl” erotic spankings. She “hates” the punishment spankings – I've had to give her two so far and another that seemed like a punishment – but she can’t deny the benefit: We’re in stupid love (tongue in cheek on the stupid).

I admit TTWD has been like a defibulator that has revived our relationship. A relationship neither of us wanna lose. Here’s a salute to 21 days of hope.

"Post Traumatic Spanking Disorder"

A simple task, that’s all it was: Call the doctor. Ask him about quitting smoking aids. Why couldn’t she just complete the assigned task? Then we wouldn’t be in this position. It was something that she said SHE wanted to do. It was something that she said she was GOING to do ANYWAY – even BEFORE it was an assigned task. I mean, how easy is that?! Just dial the number! There were other assigned tasks that were quite a bit more laborious than dialing a telephone. Dirty work I would classify them. They were all completed – and famously. But not a simple telephone call to the doctor.

I knew something was wrong the moment I walked in the door. But it didn’t crossed my mind that she hadn’t completed all of her tasks. I have been careful not too overburden her, careful to ease her into becoming more organized – more submissive to me. And careful to ease myself into becoming more direct – and Dominant for her. And also careful that I would not have to administer the dreaded “punishment spanking” before I was capable of administering the dreaded “punishment spanking”.

Well, the first official punishment spanking went badly last night. At least I’m consistent. There is actually evidence of PTSD (post traumatic spanking disorder). Simply little words are triggering it. Words like “lap” and “submit” and “puddle” (paddle) and “skank” (spank). Everyday images are triggering it: a football’s player congratulatory pat on a teammates bottom. Or it just rises out of nowhere, quite spontaneously, to the surface of consciousness from somewhere deep within. After a while the shallow breathing; the anxiety; the dry mouth; the pursed-lipped disdain; the head shaking disgust resides. But it returns. Hopefully with time it will fade away forever. But for now? PTSD: because another spanking has gone badly. Very, very badly.

Maybe I just wanted to get it done in a hurry. Bible study was starting soon and I didn’t want her to be asleep when all the guys left. Maybe I was just looking for tears. I like tears. Tears are good. But I’m supposed to know her threshold by now, aren’t I? I’m supposed to have the hang of this by now – at least you would think so.

When I asked her what was wrong she tried to hide behind the proverbial, “Nothing”. It couldn’t shield her. It was a “something ‘nothing’” – if you know what I mean. I pressed, but ended up letting it go for a bit. Allowing her to fulfill the need to hide in plain sight.

I shuffled through my normal get home routine and, as I encountered them, mentally noted that the day’s assigned tasks were completed. But when I asked SugarAnne whether she called the doctor the “Nothing” was unveiled to reveal the something. And I knew we were at a monumental moment in “this thing we do”. This is where everything began to seriously unravel.

She hemmed and hawed – quite reasonably I must say. I could tell she was feeling like she would be able to get out of it. It had to be done. It had to be done now. I’ve played out the scenario in my mind time after time. I know what punishment looks like and I know what punishment looks like for SugarAnne. I KNOW IT! I know it! Really I do! I also know the rewards – for her, for me, for us! So why couldn’t I pull the trigger?

Yes, she did receive a spanking. And yes, her anxieties and her frustrations and her disappointment in herself were removed. She even says she received what she needed from the proceedings. But we both know there is more to be had. They are few and far between, these punishment spankings – and I’m thankful for that. I guess I'll have to nail the landing on the next punishment go ‘round.

Score:
Technical Merit: 2 (more erotic than punishment in application)
Spanking Accuracy: 10 (good judgment, right time, right situation)
Artistic Expression: 5 (not enough anticipation, scolding, variety)

For now I’ll just have to deal with the shallow breathing; the anxiety; the dry mouth; the pursed-lipped personal disdain and the head shaking self-disgust. UGH! Don’t you just hate “post traumatic spanking disorder”?! I know I do.

I’m a bit steamed I blew an opportunity like this.