"Then, She Said..." Part 2: Weekend Salvaged

I walked into a dark house a couple hours later. The only light was coming from a flickering television in the den. I went straight for the bedroom, got undressed and crawled into bed. I was expecting him to come into the room any second and punish me for walking out of him. He never showed, and eventually I fell asleep despite the nervousness in my stomach.

When I awoke, he wasn't next to me. I rose, put on my bathrobe and found him in the living room sitting in silence. I sat down next to him and waited for him to say something. He remained quiet. I didn't know what this meant, and I found myself feeling irritated that he wasn't giving me a clue as to where he stood. I stood up and stomped off to the bedroom again and started to dress for my morning workout. That's when he walked in the door.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"I want this to be over," I said. "And I want that post gone. Not edited, dammit. Gone!"

"What difference does it make?" he said. "The language is gone."

"But the scar remains. Don't you get that?"

"It's not nearly as bad as the one I posted back in February," he said.

"Yeah, well funny you should mention that. I wanted that one gone, too, but you made it clear you didn't care what I wanted then, why should I expect anything different now?"

He watched me for a moment as I rummaged through my drawers for my shorts, and then he left the room. I could hear him pounding on the computer keyboard in the den, and by the time I had my gym shoes on, he emerged back in the doorway. "Okay," he said. "They're gone."

I tilted my head like a dog listening to a high pitched whistle. "They?" I asked.

"Both posts. They're gone. The one from yesterday, and the one from February."

"Really?" I was stunned and relieved. I also felt a little twinge of guilt that perhaps I had bullied him into conducting his blog the way I wanted him to. I walked over to him and smiled and hugged him. "Really?"

"Yes, really."

"Thank you," I whispered in his ear. "I love you." I pulled back and asked, "Do you want to go to the gym with me? We can burn 300 calories and then put on a couple thousand for breakfast."

"No," he said. "There's the little matter of your walking out on me that we have to discuss."

My knees went weak and I backed up and sat down hard on the bed.

"Do you think it's acceptable that you should walk out on me when I told you not to leave?"

"No." I shook my head. "And I'm really sorry I did that. I was just so angry. I didn't know how else to handle it."

"I understand, but willfully disobeying me is not... all... right. My problem is that I didn't take care of you last night. I should have gone after you and dragged you back in here by your hair. And I'm disappointed in myself that I didn't. But that's never going to happen again."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the next time you walk out on me when I'm talking to you, I won't hesitate to act. Do you understand?"

I nodded my head. I knew what he meant. I was still hoping for a reprieve for this time, but I had to ask the obvious question. "So... when do you want to take care of this?"

He stared at me for a long time, and then finally said. "Let's do it now. I want you to go get the shredder, and the bath brush, a couple of pillows, and the handcuffs, strip down to your panties and meet me in the den. Understand?"

The handcuffs? What the hell was he going to do to me? I had bought those cuffs as a joke ten years ago, and now they were coming back to haunt me. Just how angry was he?

I retrieved everything he asked for, and met him back in the den to find that he had moved his exercise bench from the wall to the center of the room. He told me to sit on it facing him.

"Before we do this, I need to tell you something," he said.

I looked at the ceiling, then back down to the floor, everywhere but into his eyes. "I want to apologize to you," he said.

"What?" I whispered. I'm surprised, but I still can't look at him.

"I should have listened to you when you said that you were offended by my language, and I allowed my ego to supercede your feelings. I never should have done that. You deserve better than that..." he took a deep breath. "And please don't think it's escaped me how unfair this must seem to you. I get that the fact that there are no consequences for my behavior, and you get punished for yours."

I managed a slight smile.

"I want you to lay over the pillows on the bench. The cuffs are to protect your hands. I don't want you moving them back to cover yourself. They could get hurt."

I placed myself in position and he knelt down next to me and cuffed my wrists under the bench. Then he said, "I'm never again going to allow you to cut me off at the knees the way you did last night," he said.

I started to cry.  I couldn't even accuse him of being furious and out of control. he was calm, cool, rational... loving, even.

I clenched my jaw as I felt him pull my panties down to my knees.

My stomach curdled in fear. “From now on, I intend to do what I’m supposed to do as head of household.” he said. The first strike of the paddle made me jerk and squeal in pain. After the third swat I began crying loudly. Suddenly there was a pillow shoved in front of my face. “Yell into that, Sugar. We’re going to be here a while.”

I kicked and writhed, straining my wrists against the steel of the cuffs as I screamed into the pillow. My pleas became hoarse and uncontrollable. I remember crying out, "I’m so sorry, I won’t ever walk out on you again, I swear. Please stop…” over and over.

He finally stopped only to put down the paddle and pick up the bath brush. It was only half over, and it was only going to get worse. I shut my eyes tight and buried my face in the tear soaked pillow.

The spanking was agonizing and seemed to go on forever. After what seemed like an eternity he stopped and waited a few moments for me to calm myself. Then he uncuffed me, and I went into the bathroom, washed my face and crawled in bed. Babyman arrived about 5 minutes later, got undressed and got in bed with me and wrapped his arms around me.. I was still heaving, trying to get my breath under control. We eventually began to continue where we left off on Friday evening. So it wasn't kicked off by the "slap and tickle," but it ended where it should have, with the merging and melting of two passionate bodies... and continued on through the rest of the weekend, and everyday since.

"Then She Said..." Part One: Ruined Evening

Babyman was in one of those moods; Amorous, affectionate, horny. He excites me when he's this way. He begins first thing in the morning by telling me what he plans to do to me when he gets home from work, and in no uncertain terms... but to use more delicate language than he used, he wants to spank me and make love to me all over the house. These are the good spankings. The "slap and tickle" sessions I adore so much. It makes us both crazy, and we wind up groping and merging together like animals for hours. He'll probably begin in the living room as he bends me over the back of the couch, warms my behind with the paddle, and then enter me with a passionate appetite that'll leave me breathless and drained, but wanting more. Then he'll move to the kitchen counter, and then the couch in the den, and then...

He tells me what he wants me to pick up for dinner, (not that we'll ever get to dinner) and what he wants me to be wearing when he comes through the door at 5:00. When he gets home, everything is in order. The counter top grill is out and ready to be fired up on command. I'm wearing a chemise and bikini set that he had bought me a while back for Valentine's Day. I'm standing there with paddle in hand, bare feet, and a little lip gloss on my lips. When he sees me he smiles, grabs me and fondles me like we've been apart for months.


"Did you get my message?"


"What message?" I look at him inquisitively.


"The one I left for you on my blog." He takes the paddle and slaps me affectionately with it. "Go take a look."


I smile suspiciously as I go to the den and open up his blog on the computer. He sits on the arm of the couch a couple feet away as I read. But something's wrong. As I'm reading, expecting to find something romantic and beautiful, I find language that is base, vile, disturbing; going into graphic detail of our impending evening together. My darling man is a minister of the Gospel. He's got the heart of a servant of God... and a mouth like a sailor. I turn to look at him with shock on my face. "No... you didn't do this. Tell me you didn't do this!"


I can tell he's confused, as men so often are. "What's wrong?" he asks

"Babyman, you can't be serious! You can't say these things in your blog!"


"Why not? It's my blog."


"But it's about me! It's about us. I'm... I'm mortified! You have to delete it."


"Delete it? No!"


"Yes! and right now, before anyone reads it! It's disgusting!"


"Absolutely not." he reaches for me and pulls me over his knee and slaps me playfully with the paddle. Once I stand up again, he catches the pissed off look on my face. "You're not serious..." he says.


I can feel tears welling up in my eyes. I'm sincerely horrified that he would use that kind of language in his blog when referring to me after I had made it clear that I didn't appreciate that last time he did it months ago. I move to the other end of the couch, grab a pillow and cover my exposed body with it. "I'm offended," I said. "You have to get rid of that thing tonight! Now!"


Babyman sits down next to me and remains quiet.


"Well?"


"I'm thinking about it," he said.


Thinking about it? Thinking about it?


"Well while you think about it, I'm getting dressed." I took off for the bedroom, grabbed a pair of jeans and a sweater, and slipped into them. Then I lay down on the bed and cry myself to sleep. My beautiful erotic evening had been ruined, and that insensitive jerk wasn't lifting a finger to fix the problem.


I wake up about 7:15 and go into the den to find Babyman lying on the couch watching a rerun of Law and Order. He shifts his eyes toward me. "I fixed it," he says.


I breathe a sigh of relief and manage a smile. "Thank you," I whisper. The passion of the evening had been extinguished, but perhaps I could kill some of the bad feeling between us. I felt a little bad that I had dictated the way he expresses himself in his own journal, and that clearly bothers him.  I rubbed his leg affectionately. "You want me to make your dinner?" I ask.


"No" he says curtly. I can tell that he's still irritated. I went to the computer and pull up his blog once again to verify that the distasteful post had indeed been removed, and find...wait a second, he hadn't delete it at all! He simply left the same title with a teaser stating that the disgusting part had been removed, and that he was willing to answer interrogatories in it's place.


"You gotta be kidding me! This is the best I'm going to get?" I snapped.


"What do you mean? I got rid of the part you didn't like"


"I wanted it gone! All of it. Dammit!" I get up and storm back into the bedroom and slam the door. I put on my socks and gym shoes, grab my jacket and purse and stormed rather loudly into the kitchen to retrieve my keys.


"Where are you going?" I hear him call from the den.


"OUT!" I spit


"NO YOU'RE NOT!" he shoots back.


"Watch me! You won't talk to me about this, you won't consider my feelings, I need to get out of here!" I said as I reached for the front door.


"I'm talking to you right now. Sugar, don't you..." his voice trails off into the distance as I shut the door behind me and run down the hall and out of the building.


I know what his damned problem is. He wants to make sure I know that I couldn't tell him what to do. Well he and his *&^$%# principles can damned well keep each other company tonight. I'm going to a bar.


While I sat in a sports bar a couple of blocks away nursing a Miller Lite and watching The March Madness tournament, it occurres to me...What did I just do?  I walked out on him when he expressly told me not to.

He's gonna kill me!

To be continued...

The Struggle Continues

Several months ago I had been asked by a neighbor to help her with her mother until they could find permanent help. Millie had recently had her second stroke as a result of her 40 year smoking habit. Her heart and lungs had been taxed to their limit, and she paid the price of allowing her dependency to break her. I spent several weeks helping her bathe, eat, and dress. Millie can no longer talk. Her brain limits her vocabulary to about 10 words, and that is the extent of her communication. She is only about 10 years older than myself.

One night after spending an evening with her, I came home in tears. I was blubbering almost hysterically, desperately trying to come to grips with watching this young woman deteriorate before my eyes. I remember saying over and over to BabyMan, "Help me. I can't do this alone. I’m so scared. I don't want to wind up like her." I knew that's where I was headed. I was exhausted all the time, and I knew I had to do something, because I was in physical trouble. I could barely climb a simple flight of stairs, and had stopped going to the gym months ago. I had tried several times to quit smoking over the years, and found that the addiction was so strong, I felt powerless against it. BabyMan understood about addiction. It's a powerful force that can separate the closest of couples, and if he was going to take an active disciplinarian role in this, he would run the risk of causing resentment or even hatred stemming from my own chemical withdrawal.

BabyMan promised to help me. He started with limiting my cigarettes during the day, and then stopping smoking after 5:00 pm. I became irritable, antagonistic and agitated easily. I had my victories and my failures. I was paddled several times over the next few weeks for the smell of smoke in the house, leaving to grab a smoke in the yard after BabyMan went to sleep, lying, sneaking around, etc. I had lost my ability to reason. My integrity and credibility were shot as I rationalized and made excuses to myself for my lack of control. I worked hard to consume as much nicotine as I could get away with, and BabyMan was on to me most of the time.

Finally after several weeks of playing cat and mouse, I was told to pick a date where I would stop completely. I bought a box of nicotine lozenges, and picked January 1st as my quit date. But my behavior had to change. I must commit to total honesty, and confess whenever I failed. Through a painful wrestling with my conscience, I kept my word.

So far, there have only been two punishments since January 1st. My confessions came many days after the fact, and after having struggled with the fear of punishment. This wouldn't be an average paddling. This would be a painful, agonizing, burning that would render me unable to sit for hours, maybe even days. I would be spanked for smoking, and then again for lying by omission. In the end, I took it. He lectured me hard with every strike of the paddle. "So you decided to risk stroke (WHAP!) cancer (WHAP!) emphasima (WHAP!) ... did you give any thought to me, or the others who love you? (WHAP!) Did it occur to you that you'd leave me to grieve If I had to bury you because you were too selfish to stop killing yourself? (WHAP!) You want me to trust you and you lie to me (WHAP!) You think this is a game? This is your life, Dammit! (WHAP!)...

He was right. I had acted selfishly, and the scolding alone was enough to break my heart. I sobbed gut wrenchingly to his words of disappointment, as well as screamed in agony to the pain of the leather paddle on my bare behind.

So here it is, 3 months later, and I am breathing easier. I began going back to the gym 3 days a week at first, and have progressed to five days a week. My workouts are more rigorous as my lungs have begun the healing process. Thirty years of smoking had taken it's toll on my health, but I almost feel normal again, and my husband is so proud of me. After trying almost everything to quit over the years, I had consented to submitting to physical punishment as a deterrent, and oddly enough, it is the only thing that has worked so far.

The struggle continues today with intermittent nicotine fits. I've been told that the chemical completely leaves your body after only about ten days, but it doesn't feel that way. I see people on the street with cigarettes, and seriously consider offering them a dollar or two for just one to kill the craving. I fight these thoughts one day at a time, and each day I emerge victorious only to face the same challenge the next day.

Recently, on our trip to Jamaica, BabyMan discovered that his belt has another use other than holding up his pants. He had never used the belt on me before, and that first time in Jamaica caused severe bruising, and a pain that I NEVER want to experience again. My punishments for smoking paled in comparison. I had gotten almost used to our trusty leather paddle, and I believe that subconsciously I have come to the conclusion that the occasional cigarette in times of extreme withdrawal or stress would actually be worth the punishment. I can take the paddle if I have to. It's painful, but I can live through it without experiencing post traumatic stress syndrome. The belt is another story. It can't, in all fairness, be described as a spanking. It is a whipping, pure and simple. I handled it once, and I never want to go there again.

Of all the infractions that earn me a spanking, BabyMan and I  both consider smoking to be the most egregious, the most deplorable. This isn't a game. This is a mission to save my life, and I believe that he would not hesitate to reach for the belt the next time I falter.  And I wouldn't blame him.  The problem is that in times of great stress, I am weak. 

And knowing this, with my daily struggle to stay on my path… will I have to courage to confess next time?

'Man Bites Dog

My husband is a brave man. I gotta hand it to him, there's something sexy about the fact that he faces challenges with the right amount of caution and forethought, and ultimately will forge ahead with the willingness to face the possible consequences.


Babyman has always had a problem with dogs, having been bitten by a German Shepard as a child.  Me, I'm a huge dog lover, and have worked with them in some capacity on and off for the past ten years. I have a reputation in the neighborhood as someone who will often board, walk, groom or train for a reasonable fee if not for free. Babyman understands my love for dogs, and has been quite tolerant and reasonable in my efforts to be around them, especially since I have relinquished the right to own one for his comfort. He has worked very hard to put his fear of dogs aside to accommodate my needs, and I absolutely love him for that. But there are rules. There are dogs he has come to know and trust and has no problem with. He'll put up with the inconvenience of having them underfoot, but they must be obedient and have a healthy respect for him. Under no circumstances am I to board a dog that he doesn't know, which is how I earned a previous spanking (see this post).


Recently I boarded our neighbor's dog, Annie, for 10 days. She's an easy going, lovable, stocky mutt, part Pit Bull, part Shepard. Babyman has no problem with Annie, we've known her for years, and he's made it clear that she is welcome in our home any time.


So, one of these evenings at 5:00 PM, I'm tearing around the kitchen, ripping things out of cabinets and generally freaking out. I had started a new recipe, the chicken and vegetables were simmering, and I can't find the all important box of Knorr Tomato and Basil Recipe mix. I know I had it! If I don't find it, the dinner will be ruined. Babyman walks in the door from work, pins me down and kisses me for a moment, and then watches me tear around some more like a confined hurricane.


"What's the matter with you?" he asks.


"I can't find an ingredient I need for dinner," I whine.


"You want me to go out and pick it up?" he offers.


"No! I have it. I know I do. I bought it yesterday. I just can't find it."


As Babyman shrugs, and walks off toward the bedroom to change his clothes, I hear him mumble, "If you had organized the cabinets the way I told you to you wouldn't be having this problem."


"Say what?" Suddenly I feel the hormonal dragon burst through my nervous system. I turn off the stove and storm in after him. He's sitting on the bed going through the mail. I point an angry finger at him. "Let me tell you something, Pal, this is my kitchen. I run it the way I see fit. When you get your own kitchen you can run it anyway you like, but until then, you keep your opinions to yourself."


He's laughing at me. He's got a boyish grin that can really piss me off when I'm trying to be assertive. "Is that right?" he says.


"And another thing, the next time you walk into my kitchen..." The next thing I know, he leaps off the bed and tackles me with his arm around my waist. Suddenly I am up-ended and my legs fly into the air. I am draped over one arm while his other hand pulls down my sweatpants and begins slapping my bottom. I'm yelling "Ow! OW! ow! ow!" I hear him laughing.


And suddenly, the assault stops. I'm not sure why until I look over my shoulder and see Babyman's face practically frozen in fear as he stares at something toward the door. I follow his line of sight, and there at the bedroom door is Annie, staring at him with a look in her eye that says, "Put her down… NOW!”


Now as much as Babyman like's Annie, he also knows that she considers me her foster mother, and he realizes that she will likely protect me against all enemies both foreign and domestic.


It's funny how a small simple thing can wipe a self satisfied smirk off a face.


I start chuckling. "Well, well well..." I sing. "You realize that one word from me and she'll rip your throat out."


No answer.


"Do you feel lucky? Well do ya… Punk?" I say in my best Clint Eastwood voice.


I feel his grip releasing me until my feet touched the floor. I pull up my pants and sit on the bed, cross my arms and cock my head. "Well, it looks there's a new HOH in the house."


“Sugar ..."


“Ah, ah, ah..." I lifted a finger to signal silence. "You' don't want to say anything you'll regret." I rise and sashay out the door, giggling, leaving him to mull over the fact that for the moment, I have the upper hand.


I eventually find the Ingredient I’m looking for, salvage dinner, and we eat in front of the TV.  He’s silent, and I know he’s thinking… weighing his options, considering the possible repercussions of the decision he has to make.


After dinner he gets the paddle from the bedroom and leads me to the den where he pulls me over his lap on the couch. This isn’t a punishment spanking, it’s an I-have-something-to-prove spanking. The slaps of the paddle are noisy, and it stings just enough for me to cry out in discomfort. “Baby, you’re making a mistake,” I utter through gritted teeth between slaps. “Annie’s going to come in here, and if she thinks you’re hurting me…”


“I’m mother f*ckin’ HOH up in here,” (WHAP!) “Annie is a guest in my home." (WHAP!) "She gives me any bull Sh*t, I’ll spank her too!” (WHAP!)


After a couple of seconds, as expected, Annie trots in to come to my rescue. She gives Babyman what I perceive as a threatening look. He doesn’t flinch, but carries out his business as he stares at her with the intensity of a bigger and meaner dog. After about 30 seconds, she backs down and trots out of the room, leaving me holding the bag.  Babyman gives me one more triumphant slap, lifts me up and shoves the paddle into my hand.  "Put that away," he says with a new air of confidence.

Like I said… My husband is a brave man. He summoned up the courage to take back his rightful place as HOH, and was willing to fight to the death for it.


There’s something sexy about that.

Non Negotiable

Babyman and I had a good evening with our students this past Wednesday. We have been coaching a young couple in ballroom dancing for their upcoming wedding, and if I may say so, we're pretty good teachers. We compliment each other beautifully as a team and coordinate our teaching styles to create a level of comfort and maximum comprehension. Their dance will be the crowning success of their reception as they foxtrot their way into their new lives with the elegant moves and styling techniques we instilled in them. After we said goodbye to them we hugged, high-fived and congratulated each other on our triumphant feat of magic that transformed an adorably clumsy mountain man into a graceful Gene Kelly. We sat down on the living room couch and laughed, mused, yapped and gossiped about the control and dexterity of a couple of kids that only a few weeks ago looked more like they were wrestling than dancing.

As the room became quiet and we basked in the glow of our own accomplishment, a tension began to fill the atmosphere. We both new what it was, and neither of us wanted to acknowledge the elephant in the room. I glanced at Babyman with a sad look on my face. I had almost forgotten. He didn't look happy either. Then he finally said in a serious voice, "I want you to go lock the door, then get the paddle and the bathbrush. Come back here and sit next to me with your panties around your ankles."

Shoot! We were having such a good time. I hesitated, searching my brain for something brilliant to say that might make him reconsider. Nothing was coming to me. I heard him say, "I would move now if I were you."

I bit my lip, rose, elegantly smoothed my dancing skirt, and walked out of the room. When I returned I handed him the implements he asked for, pulled my panties to my ankles and sat beside him.

"Do you understand why you're being punished, Sugar?"

Dammit, is this really necessary? Do they all ask the same question? I hate this part. Of course I understand. I'm not a moron... I'm just an idiot! I shifted my eyes away from him. "Yes. I made a commitment to board Bill's dog without discussing it with you."  Dogs make him nervous and uncomfortable. They make me, however, very happy.  Hence my hasty decision and disregard for the consequences.

"And you kept it from me how long?"

"Six days."

"Do you have any idea how embarrassed I'd be if I ran into Bill and found out that way?"

I shook my head. Suddenly that brilliant idea came to mind and my face suddenly brightened. "But on the upswing, he's paying me a hundred bucks." Babyman's always willing to listen to a good negotiation. "How 'bout if I... if I buy the spanking from you?"

"Excuse me?"

"I'll give you the hundred dollars, and we forget about the spanking," I said hopefully.

He stared at me for a moment like a deer caught in headlights, and for a split second I know I saw him trying to hide a smile. "I'm afraid it doesn't work that way," he said. "Let's just get this over with."

I draped myself over his lap where I had a perfect view of the paddle and bathbrush sitting on the arm of the couch. I watched helplessly as he grabbed them one by one and administered several painful smacks with each while lecturing me on disrespect and dishonesty. I heaved, bucked and kicked while I counted out one hundred swats... one for each dollar I'll make.

Imagine My Surprise!

Domestic Discipline. What a bizarre concept!  I remember watching the movie McClintock as a teen, as John Wayne put Maureen O'Hara over his knee in public and paddled her with a coal shovel, then pushed her to the ground declaring, "Now go get your divorce!" I remember thinking, hell, not only would I divorce him, but I'd take him for everything he's got! Then I'd kill him!

 Imagine my surprise when, in the next scene, O'Hara and Wayne are in the window of their ranch in a loving embrace and she's declaring her obedience in the aftermath of an embarrassing spanking. What the hell just happened? Did I miss something? Okay, I chalked it up to Hollywood and the patriarchal and misogynistic societal influences of the 1950's. That only happens in old movies and I Love Lucy episodes.  Right?

 So here I am 30 years later, I'm a married woman of the new millennium, and the subject comes up again, only we're not talking about Hollywood this time. We're talking about my life.

 Now, Maureen O'Hara's character was an angry, vindictive, jealous, demanding, high maintenance woman with a temper, and frankly, even the most staunch feminist of the 21st Century would have to be a little relieved when she gets her comeuppance at the end of that film. Now, I don't come anywhere close to resembling her character. But Babyman and Sugaranne (our pet names for each other) had their problems... problems that had lasted 10 years and were only getting worse. I could enumerate them, but they all fall into the same basic category. He thought I didn't respect him, and he resented me for it.

 Imagine my surprise once again when I realized he had been spending time perusing a website called Taken in Hand. for months it was all over the computer's history, and he even boldly put it in our list of favorites. He wasn't trying to hide it. he was making it clear that we were going to have a discussion about domestic discipline sometime in the near future.
 Now, I'm no stranger to fun, sexy, erotic, foreplay spanking. I believe I even initiated it several years ago before we were married, and Babyman obliged me every once in a while to get the sexual juices flowing. If we weren't going to have a healthy marital relationship, then we were at least going to have a decent sexual one.

 But the day finally came when he decided to have the talk with me. There's a new Sheriff in town, and he declared his intention of taking his role as the head of this household, and I would show my respect through my obedience, honesty and respect.

 We decided to use domestic discipline as a means to help me be more organized and more goal oriented. He began by giving me a list of things to accomplish every day (putting the house in order, working on my artwork, exercising consistently, etc...) and for the first week or so I was excited, extremely motivated and felt a heightened self esteem.

I admit that I tested him. Wanted to find his limitations, see if he was serious, or if it was all male posturing, or even a smokescreen for more imaginative foreplay.  I never really thought he'd spank me for real in response to disobedience. Not for real. I mean... C'mon! Seriously!

Imagine my surprise when he did.

 But here's the kicker... Imagine my surprise once again when, not only did I not want to divorce him or kill him over it, but I wound up in that same Wayne-O'Hara embrace declaring my obedience in the aftermath of an embarrassing spanking. What the hell just happened? Did I miss something?

 So now I'm in love with, and married to a man who holds me accountable for dishonesty, disrespect and disobedience. The punishments are painful, embarrassing, cathartic, and cleansing. I often find myself in a struggle for control and power, and, at the same time, willing to submit to his will and desires. I'm confused and content at the same time.

 Imagine my Surprise.