tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45525248459512762112024-03-15T20:09:26.720-05:00The Sweetness of SugarMy husband decided to incorporate discipline into our marriage last year. It’s been a journey that started out with a great deal of discomfort, and is turning into a life that I wouldn’t trade for anything. We’re still working out the kinks, but I think we’ve settled into something …SugarAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00628576666136112710noreply@blogger.comBlogger46125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552524845951276211.post-10782972744105088042011-01-29T12:29:00.003-06:002011-01-29T13:34:26.943-06:00It Takes a Village to Raise a Spanko<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJnhhdauerMvpQmalC6RjThtluWOsJw4rFiQI_OKhNeTAifKqvzFIGfhyphenhyphenPQWnMH_IAui69nrnAev6ScSZoMWAXnrCm1-4QvwjGfsCkUNHxmoFaqr0C7cONMZQnDnvqjOWsdBE_yi-rpO_h/s1600/girlfriends.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJnhhdauerMvpQmalC6RjThtluWOsJw4rFiQI_OKhNeTAifKqvzFIGfhyphenhyphenPQWnMH_IAui69nrnAev6ScSZoMWAXnrCm1-4QvwjGfsCkUNHxmoFaqr0C7cONMZQnDnvqjOWsdBE_yi-rpO_h/s200/girlfriends.jpg" width="195" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Being a woman in the computer age has afforded me relationships and alliances that I could only dream of as a veritable loner in my teens and 20's. <a href="http://lovingsugaranne.blogspot.com/">In closing down my blog</a>, I realize how very blessed I have been to find like minded people all over the world who not only understand me, but have been so generous in their advice and support. I know that when I jump off this ledge by clicking <em>publish</em>, I'll have so much to say that I'll desperately want to come back. This blog has been such a huge part of my life in the past year.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I came into blogging as a young fresh faced newbie... a bit selfish, thoughtless, certainly not the sharpest knife in this drawer. And now, look at me. A year later, I'm all grown up, and B'Man and I have settled into a comfort zone that will be a part of our lives forever. And all of you who commented, and chatted, and befriended me were a part of that growth, and I just want you to know that I appreciate you.</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Sara, the voice of reason and wisdom;</div><br />
Janet, my first and most treasured phone buddy and confidant;<br />
<br />
Kady, the hand I reach for during hormonal storms, and Christian conviction;<br />
<br />
Kay Lynn, the wordsmith who can paint a picture in a paragraph;<br />
<br />
PK, who created Cassie, a woman I identify with to the marrow of my bones;<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Mick, another admirable and respected source of the HoH experience;</div><br />
Jenn and RW, a couple of sweet kids I consider my little sisters;<br />
<br />
Galway Giirl, a woman who's personal stories inspired my posts more than she knows;<br />
<br />
Katia and Emilie, The rebels of the neighborhood who had the courage to break with tradition to find their way;<br />
<br />
Ronnie and Daisychain, a couple of adorable Brits with the classic humor I've come to look forward to each week;<br />
<br />
Tammy, who sought me out for advice but wound up teaching me a few things;<br />
<br />
Ally, My source for Homeopathy and holistic self examination.<br />
<br />
Arianna, the poet and visual artist.<br />
<br />
The wit, wisdom and invaluable advice of the new girls on the block... Monica, Audra, Surrendering Slowly, Alexandra, Serenity, Stormy, DaisyChristian, Misty, Lynn, and Judy.<br />
<br />
And to the person with whom I parted ways over a disagreement, (you know who you are) you were the first person to reach out to me last year, and I will always appreciate that.<br />
<br />
All the guys and gals from Joannie and Friends Forum who have come in to lend support and love.<br />
<br />
And, of course Bonnie, The Grand Dame of the spanko community and whose posts B'Man would read to me when he considered proposing this relationship.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">This is the village where I grew up. And even though I'll no longer be a contributing blogger, I hope you will allow me to be a part of your lives as we continue to do <em>This Thing We Do.</em></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8sP5lIuPRi4rd4uKjixJ2MjjX-KbLREMSooc587VLSFOFZVRgeThcXx3HqNx-cmdb-0ojK143W_XU0ip-w8RhfvPT6W05_MXrKtKag7QnAVLCS_JJKAlMTEz1ed_dSKH8LVCiCtI-oNrO/s1600/spanko+wife.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8sP5lIuPRi4rd4uKjixJ2MjjX-KbLREMSooc587VLSFOFZVRgeThcXx3HqNx-cmdb-0ojK143W_XU0ip-w8RhfvPT6W05_MXrKtKag7QnAVLCS_JJKAlMTEz1ed_dSKH8LVCiCtI-oNrO/s200/spanko+wife.jpg" width="170" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">Love Always</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">SugarAnne</div>SugarAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00628576666136112710noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552524845951276211.post-37942006269833679382011-01-22T07:40:00.002-06:002011-01-22T07:50:34.451-06:00Warning! Warning!<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCamnusQBUf2wvE2N497BSYOmTbn21idRQmHFwzPSYuyUew2QblkQj1Cuht0YUQUl9lLRr5G8nKp_CiO5TmpJCYokpm1osxokIgSBZddcX-RZEIJBLZ4n_QQ3GhucKwogzSy39YBWafJKV/s1600/danger%2521.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCamnusQBUf2wvE2N497BSYOmTbn21idRQmHFwzPSYuyUew2QblkQj1Cuht0YUQUl9lLRr5G8nKp_CiO5TmpJCYokpm1osxokIgSBZddcX-RZEIJBLZ4n_QQ3GhucKwogzSy39YBWafJKV/s1600/danger%2521.jpg" /></a>Every once in a while I'll reflect on the subtle differences in communication that have taken place in the last year as a result of ttwd, or tweed, as my phrase turning husband might say. He has a distinct look on his face when he's warning me that I'm coming dangerously close to a spanking if I don't back off, or lower my voice, or calm down, or rephrase my request... There's a look that he gets that begins with his simply getting very quiet, and his head will ever so slowly turn toward me until his eyes lock with mine. His facial expression is not menacing or hard, and half the time there is no frown or wrinkling of the forehead. it's just a look. facial muscles relaxed, but the silence is deafening.</div></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>Lately he's taken to shifting his eyes to look toward the leather paddle that's been sitting in the den since a previous incident. A while ago, on my way to bed, I stopped in the den during my evening ritual to kiss him goodnight. He inquired about the light in the living room (I have a bit of a habit of leaving it on when I'm the last one to leave the area). I was immediately irritated. I hadn't finished my evening ritual, and was going to be in and out before the final exit. And again, I have to blame the hormones for my reaction. <br />
<br />
"Why are you sweatin' me? I'll get to the lights when I get to it. Do you mind?"<br />
<br />
It wasn't a nasty, venomous snap, just a little sarcasm that may have crossed the line, and my tone may have gone over to the dark side. <br />
<br />
B'Man reached for the remote and muted the television as though he wanted to make sure he was hearing correctly.<br />
<br />
"What's your problem?" I ask, still in battle mode.<br />
<br />
Suddenly I recognized that slow turn of the head, and his eyes made contact. It reminded me of Linda Blair when she made that slow 360 degree turn of her head in <em>The Exorcist</em>, revealing the demon within. There's a slight lift of the eyebrow that indicates that he's a bit surprised that I chose to challenge him, and a touch of humor at my sudden stupid bravery. His eyes shift to the other side of the couch, and I follow his gaze to the arm of the couch where there rests the leather paddle that was used to bring me back to earth on <a href="http://thesweetnessofsugar-sugaranne.blogspot.com/2010/12/from-10-to-7.html">Christmas day</a>. I bite my bottom lip and try to smile sheepishly as he cuts his eyes back to me. There are no words that come from his mouth. It's not necessary. I got the message. I leave the room as quickly as possible with my dignity in tact.<br />
<br />
B'Man's warnings have have been quite clear and unmistakable of late. Usually in the morning when he gives me a particular task for me to complete during the day, he'll write it down and hand it to me. There have been misunderstandings and miscommunications in the past that have warranted a written record of his request. When he hands it to me, he'll say, "There, it's written on paper. Don't make me come home and have to write it on your ass." or, my personal favorite: "I'll be back here with a white glove... and a black belt." <br />
<br />
That will inspire a bit of caustic, yet nervous laughter from me.<br />
<br />
And yet, every so often the lioness will come out in me. A hormonal symptom? Possibly. But mostly I simply feel like exerting my power (what little there is of it). B'Man will allow me to go so far. He clearly recognizes a need in me to push my limit, but when it's reached, I am reigned back in, gently but firmly.<br />
<br />
I may rant and rave, point fingers, make empty threats, become a little snide or sarcastic, and then finally...<br />
<br />
"Obviously I didn't spank you hard enough last time," or... "Apparently you don't get your ass spanked enough around here."<br />
<br />
That tends to change my mood pretty fast.<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Then of course there's the silent but deadly removing of his belt, folding it in his hand and menacingly slapping a piece of furniture to elicit a nervous reaction from me. I'll jump from the sound and catch that humorous twinkle in his eye as he shakes the belt at me and says, "You get where I'm coming from?"</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIEKAn1GKtAro0rYAFXmNFfEG5AbF3Mx_n2giBxn3jBfLXw4UBLcypyH3ytb3Uw2FVSEn5sZaT7gtaDZ9fYdAhYAtjQzOJSHnE1uW0_vh5XWAWK0h7RB12qCdAT9uDQH9qyiGkrmSR2Njh/s1600/wifey+2.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; height: 226px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; width: 221px;"><img border="0" height="200" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIEKAn1GKtAro0rYAFXmNFfEG5AbF3Mx_n2giBxn3jBfLXw4UBLcypyH3ytb3Uw2FVSEn5sZaT7gtaDZ9fYdAhYAtjQzOJSHnE1uW0_vh5XWAWK0h7RB12qCdAT9uDQH9qyiGkrmSR2Njh/s200/wifey+2.gif" width="200" /></a></div>I'll raise my hands in surrender. "I'm sure the whole neighborhood gets where you're coming from, BabyMan."<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">As he saunters out of the room, sporting that Simon Barr Sinister laugh of his, I'll mumble "Jerk," under my breath.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>"I heard that!"SugarAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00628576666136112710noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552524845951276211.post-25577311884446100312011-01-09T10:14:00.001-06:002011-01-09T16:11:00.304-06:00Weight to His Words<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK_PHG5cjaxCV4-hzgL1czwusQiZD05kNoASUOwZElDnIM3qlZj-9AKHRnjhS6uVStT-2RwhpQM-Wa0TIICpAflBf09s5G2DJEOZTLRaBVu7amPcW-Y5VxXhx38d_oQYNNczyChAvrXh_E/s1600/scale.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK_PHG5cjaxCV4-hzgL1czwusQiZD05kNoASUOwZElDnIM3qlZj-9AKHRnjhS6uVStT-2RwhpQM-Wa0TIICpAflBf09s5G2DJEOZTLRaBVu7amPcW-Y5VxXhx38d_oQYNNczyChAvrXh_E/s320/scale.jpg" width="248" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">"You need to give weight to my words" (WHAP!)</div><br />
This is what he said to me over and over again as he spanked me Wednesday evening after he came home and discovered that I completely ignored his instructions to me.<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Okay, I figured out about 3 months into our tweed journey that obedience is the key word here. If B'Man gives me something that he wants me to do, no matter how trivial or insignificant, what he's really looking for is an understanding between us that I give weight to his words.</div><br />
I don't like admitting certain things in this blog because he reads it, and I'm no longer able to effectively feign ignorance. <br />
<br />
But I suppose he knows it...<br />
I know that he knows it...<br />
and he knows that I know that he knows it.<br />
<br />
"You've been getting away with murder lately," he's said to me on several occasions.<br />
<br />
Murder is such a strong term. But I imagine that if I look at it from his perspective, I've been systematically killing his authority by tiny itty bitty degrees, that if he were not paying close attention, he would never have noticed.<br />
<br />
Tasks during the day are the little projects that he may give me on top of my normal cleaning and errand and shopping routine. It's usually something that he's noticed has been neglected and needs attention. For instance, a few weeks ago he told me to clean the window sill in the den. That means to give it my full attention and put some real effort into removing the clutter, and polishing it so that it looks freshly painted. It's a ten minute job on the outside, certainly nothing to agonize over or go out of my way to avoid.<br />
<br />
I waited until the very last minute, I got a shoe box, dumped all the junk in it and plopped it on the floor. Then I took a damp rag and made a cursory swipe of the dust and smeared it around seconds before he walked through the door. He noticed that I was just finishing up as though the task was an annoying afterthought... and he noticed how lousy the job was.<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">"You know I should spank you for that," was his comment at the time.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I innocently replied, "Well you weren't really specific about what you wanted. How am I supposed to know what you're looking for if you don't tell me?"</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I think it was my reprieve from that spanking that began the domino effect of a long line of half assed jobs.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Now, don't get me wrong, this doesn't happen all the time. When he wants something done. I usually give a sufficient amount of weight to his words and go out of my way to please him and go above and beyond the call of duty. But lately I've only been batting about a 500.</div><br />
I know it...<br />
He knows that I know it...<br />
And I know that he knows that I know it...<br />
<br />
So Wednesday the task was to clean out the science projects in the refrigerator.<br />
<br />
Honestly, I think I had gotten to the point where I have gotten away with so many half assed jobs that if I ignored this one completely it wouldn't be such a big deal. This was not a conscious rationalization on my part. I just somehow didn't see the urgency in it any more.<br />
<br />
When he got home we had a short discussion about it in the bedroom as he changed out of his work clothes. I was genuinely surprised when he told me to bent over my dresser and drop my jeans. I actually asked him if he were kidding.<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">"Do I look like I'm kidding?"</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">My jaw dropped.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>"I want you at the dresser so you can watch your face in the mirror."<br />
<br />
When he lifted the paddle off the hook on the wall, I wanted to be angry. But I couldn't. I didn't have a leg to stand on.<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Ks3QeJVR13eaIRCNEPbG_9aPB1ANDJVy4xkTQaC0HPXXhjMlWgzhXkSYyxMofkTIS1EF-WkCL4Foi4f_tQdBVF1swhjDVADYyah_mfZacP_OMHPV0Ic49xw4-StoGvFYcn5nuHfOLyD6/s1600/jeans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Ks3QeJVR13eaIRCNEPbG_9aPB1ANDJVy4xkTQaC0HPXXhjMlWgzhXkSYyxMofkTIS1EF-WkCL4Foi4f_tQdBVF1swhjDVADYyah_mfZacP_OMHPV0Ic49xw4-StoGvFYcn5nuHfOLyD6/s200/jeans.jpg" width="158" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I turned around, pulled down my pants and panties, and placed my elbows on the dresser and placed my face in the palms of my hands as I stared at my own face. My eyes were already red and I had this pathetic guilt ridden look on my face.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">"You need to give weight to my words," he said several times as the paddle came into contact with my sit spot. My knees buckled as I tried to remain still and started to cry. After about five stinging swats he had me count off the final ten. And of course... if I miscount, he starts over. I hate counting! Who can concentrate? number 7 feels like number 349! Who's brilliant idea was having the spankee count? </div><br />
But I digress.<br />
<br />
I know that publishing this post is in effect telling him that I admit to taking advantage of his good nature, and it's going to cause him to be more vigilant in holding me accountable. But I suppose this was going to happen eventually anyway.<br />
<br />
I know it...<br />
He knows that I know it...<br />
and I know that he knows that I know it.SugarAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00628576666136112710noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552524845951276211.post-80402072684088425642010-12-28T13:30:00.001-06:002010-12-29T04:53:50.372-06:00From a 10 to a 7<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUzkRFSW6kHeRW4607O_KpFktCXoo9PxZTXAvqn1FQjU2m3tvKawV30UKP7RVIDtqH42AieFyKx1PtX_uaGwE4u6kxvGcqcgbXy21qNmmo8SDh69wHjzJp6_ZdNHfqGr3nMrYV0rEoAFbN/s1600/Christmas+dinner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUzkRFSW6kHeRW4607O_KpFktCXoo9PxZTXAvqn1FQjU2m3tvKawV30UKP7RVIDtqH42AieFyKx1PtX_uaGwE4u6kxvGcqcgbXy21qNmmo8SDh69wHjzJp6_ZdNHfqGr3nMrYV0rEoAFbN/s1600/Christmas+dinner.jpg" /></a>As much as we love Christmas, there are those elements in everyone’s life that may take the perfection of the day from a 10 down to a 7. In the case of most people, it’s usually having to spend time with a particular relative who makes us uncomfortable, or with whom we’d never settled an old grievance that looms over our heads whenever we’re in the same social setting.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">B’Man and I were headed to spend Christmas dinner with his mother, brother, daughters, my parents, and some family friends. In the mix was a particular person who’s presence is a source of tension for the both of us. I was just getting over a virus that had gotten so bad it had landed me at the emergency room to be fed the fluids intravenously that I couldn’t keep down orally. I was clearly on the mend on Christmas day, and couldn’t use the excuse that I was just too sick. I was expected to make the yearly traditional appearance. B’Man could see that the very thought of enduring this evening with this particular person was starting to unnerve me. I had asked his permission to stay home, and was met with a definite “no”. I can’ t say that I remained in a foul mood all day as a result, but the prospect of having to spend 3 hours in a tension filled room had caused my Christmas to lose a few points on the perfection scale.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJB9By5z-kZaUmw8fVpLyCLKAKPHhqiR-2ufjxIqCLz4fbdkdZx1_H0jpfTyH2KU3Lw78qXaIq8o4rmb7ssvfapx_Rbq9axg-K6R1gRuuEPc7S1p7ZdZziXIoyUQQBzuiZ3uQMM6ZKWQiz/s1600/exchange.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJB9By5z-kZaUmw8fVpLyCLKAKPHhqiR-2ufjxIqCLz4fbdkdZx1_H0jpfTyH2KU3Lw78qXaIq8o4rmb7ssvfapx_Rbq9axg-K6R1gRuuEPc7S1p7ZdZziXIoyUQQBzuiZ3uQMM6ZKWQiz/s320/exchange.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>B’Man and I had a lovely Christmas day, exchanging gifts, eating a large breakfast, watching football games, and enjoying each others company. But when 3:00 rolled around and it was time to go, I was obviously sinking in a funk that made it clear that his forcing me to go was only going to make the situation more uncomfortable for him. And the more he attempted to cheer me up, the more I sulked.<br />
<br />
As I sat at the computer after I had gotten ready, B’Man came in holding the leather paddle. “Get off the computer and come over here,” he demanded as he sat on the couch.<br />
<br />
For a moment I was confused until it dawned on me where he was headed and why. My only chance out of this was to pretend I didn’t understand and that he was being unreasonable and irrational.<br />
<br />
I looked at him and frowned. “What is this all about?” I asked innocently.<br />
<br />
His eyebrows perked up. “After all this time, you think you’d know better than to question me when I tell you to do something.”<br />
<br />
“No!” I exclaimed. I jumped out of the computer chair and stood before him but far enough away that he wouldn’t be able to grab me. the calm on his face was infuriating. “You need to tell me what this is about," I said firmly.<br />
<br />
“I have every intention of telling you once you’re in place over my knee.”<br />
<br />
“Forget it! That’s not how this works!”<br />
<br />
His eyes narrowed as his icy stare changed the very temperature of the room. “You’re going to tell <em>ME </em>how this works?”<br />
<br />
I pointed a accusatory finger at him the way Charlton Heston’s Moses pointed angrily at the idol worshipping Jews. “This isn’t fair! You can’t do this!”<br />
<br />
“I’m not going to argue with you about this, Sugar. Drop you pants and get over here, now.” He said calmly. “You’ve got five seconds.”<br />
<br />
I was defeated. I had no argument, had no alternatives. Angrily, I unbuttoned my Levis and and pushed them down my thighs and flopped over his lap.<br />
<br />
I lay there for a few seconds while he leaned over to get a good look at my face. Usually at this point my face has clear traces of fear, but this time I’m just pissed.<br />
<br />
“I just want to get a few things straight,” He said as he starts to peel my panties down.<br />
<br />
“We can’t have this discussion with me standing up?”<br />
<br />
“I’ve been trying to reach you all day on this. You’re not listening.”<br />
<br />
“I <em>have</em> been listening”<br />
<br />
“No you haven’t, but you’re going to listen now.”<br />
<br />
I sighed and tried to make myself comfortable.<br />
<br />
“We’re going to spend time with family and friends, and we’re not going to allow one person to ruin this evening for us.”<br />
<br />
I held my chin in the palms of my hands and stared sullenly at the ceiling. “It’s easier not to go,” I mumbled.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOBg3_QuxOE7Ko-md-tPJUAvSKyldSdW0f91ufiRaa53OKGvbqjuHrNv24agwKmJ18OApZC8UwJSg-EfYI-59Fxhq-mbMi7t5XvGljqxuDGGIepglGGM7q4LDzujC1B1TGwWZZ8Zf3ElUN/s1600/on+the+couch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="201" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOBg3_QuxOE7Ko-md-tPJUAvSKyldSdW0f91ufiRaa53OKGvbqjuHrNv24agwKmJ18OApZC8UwJSg-EfYI-59Fxhq-mbMi7t5XvGljqxuDGGIepglGGM7q4LDzujC1B1TGwWZZ8Zf3ElUN/s320/on+the+couch.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>“You just don’t get it,” he said, and started to slap my behind fairly hard with the paddle. I wiggled and yelped a couple of times, but as spankings go, it wasn’t one of the worst. Its function was to get my attention and make me see that I had been willing to allow someone who I only saw once or twice a year to dictate my mood, and in the grand scheme of things, this person was certainly not worth my time and energy other than my prayers.<br />
<br />
When the spanking was over, my eyes weren’t even moist. It didn’t really hurt anything other than my pride, and make me feel a little bit ashamed that I had needed to be reminded of what’s really important. I was, however sore enough to appreciate the car’s leather seats that had been sitting in single digit temperatures all day.<br />
<br />
Christmas dinner with the family was much nicer than I anticipated. The person in question was not the bitch I was expecting, and a good time was had by all. By the time we had arrived home, I had almost forgotten why I didn't want to go in the first place. <br />
<br />
So, in the end, the only person responsible for making my Christmas a 7 instead of a 10 was... myself.SugarAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00628576666136112710noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552524845951276211.post-50960945492040540552010-12-19T17:41:00.001-06:002010-12-19T17:48:09.485-06:00Trust Me<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcB9ZXU0or4jKtmEZpzlm5-POkHMklujal3iTcBpdJLXP19yTgNU1u3kbuzdKoMoVrEkFweZtKADp3tJZkPekyE2PBXgQB0sFGSmzK5tXa77mnvaGkX0mhcDJgYE7ziozB6nZ-Bq0xQauN/s1600/depressed+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="164" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcB9ZXU0or4jKtmEZpzlm5-POkHMklujal3iTcBpdJLXP19yTgNU1u3kbuzdKoMoVrEkFweZtKADp3tJZkPekyE2PBXgQB0sFGSmzK5tXa77mnvaGkX0mhcDJgYE7ziozB6nZ-Bq0xQauN/s200/depressed+2.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>To admit that stress relief spankings are effective is probably one of the hardest things I've ever done in ttwd. Punishment spankings for something I did wrong is one thing, but to submit to a comparable level of pain for something that is above and beyond my control, like stress or anxiety was viewed by me as a little barbaric, unfair, and crossed that fine line between submission and masochism. Ever since the article on <a href="http://english.pravda.ru/health/26-03-2005/7950-whipping-0/">whipping therapy</a> started circulating around in the last few months, I tried to keep an open mind, but in talking with so many other women about the concept of stress relief and hearing how they ask for it and benefit from it, I could only shake my head in disbelief as I tried to understand the phenomenon behind the practice.<br />
<br />
B'Man initiated several stress relievers in the past few months due to some chemical imbalances that kept me off kilter, and I reluctantly submitted. The very first time my thinking was,<em> okay, lets get this over with. when it doesn't work, I can tell him it's a waste of time, and we'll never have to do this again.</em><br />
<br />
Well, much to my chagrin... it was helpful. My head was a little clearer, my endorphins a bit stronger, my energy a bit heightened...<br />
<br />
This past week I was in emotional trouble. I had not been out of the house since Sunday, and here it was Friday. The bowels of hormone hell had opened up and swallowed me whole, and as I sank into the abyss, I grabbed on to B'Man's ankle and dragged him under with me. I had run out of Vitamin D, a supplement that had kept my chin above the murky waters for several weeks. I felt myself drowning. Menopausal symptoms had hit a new level of discomfort, a level that I had never imagined. The body aches were more severe, the fatigue more acute and the mood swings more intense. I knew this was temporary, but it seemed interminable.<br />
<br />
On Monday, I <a href="http://lovingsugaranne.blogspot.com/2010/12/breath-of-pit-bull.html">instant messaged B'Man</a> and announced that he could handle it any way he wanted, but I had absolutely no intention of leaving the house under any circumstances. The cold was more than I could bear, and my nerves were dangerously on the edge of reason. While the outcome of the war was in question, I was clearly losing the battle. I no longer had the will to fight for my sanity as vigorously as I had been. All the weapons in my arsenal,... the supplements, cardio, weight training, protein shakes, journaling, and full spectrum lighting were all being out-gunned by the menopausal monster. <br />
<br />
And I could barely get out of bed.<br />
<br />
B'Man had tried giving me a stress relief spanking on Thursday morning, and as I lay across his lap taking the leather paddle, I could feel that this was not making a dent in my troubled psyche. I had gotten to the point where I was beyond this type of help, and for the first time in months, I began to worry about my emotional stability and feared that I was on my own.<br />
<br />
He walked into the den on Friday morning as I sat at the computer, mindlessly surfing through nothing of any significance. "let's try this again," he said as he waved the paddle at me. For a moment I considered arguing with him, but he seemed determined and I was too weak physically and emotionally to put up a fight.<br />
<br />
He placed a pillow on the arm of the couch in the den, and waited patiently for me to move. I rose to my feet and folded myself over the pillow as he moved my robe out of the way. The paddle came down softly at first as I heard him warn me "This is going to get a little intense, Baby." Then he began a hard and fast rhythm as I sobbed into the pillow at my head.<br />
<br />
And then it happened. The paddling stopped, and I heard something I never thought I'd hear. B'Man was unbuckling his belt and pulling it out of the loops of his pants. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no..." I tried to lift myself up, but I felt him put his hand on my shoulder blade and push me back down. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him kneel beside me. "I need you to trust me. Can you do that?"<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4xj39QQbm1jRneNNdUu3XW4TuL5CP8CERlsJ4q4rZZRQeXZ75wGaN8h9cwQ92iFbhHiYSx5SflGpHnXQVk43iQ9KiNH94blZsAF5YAH1MzpAp-jHVZEESx9zIeXYrXEDyC3mrNreXKdk0/s1600/lucy_bed_belt_spanking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="137" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4xj39QQbm1jRneNNdUu3XW4TuL5CP8CERlsJ4q4rZZRQeXZ75wGaN8h9cwQ92iFbhHiYSx5SflGpHnXQVk43iQ9KiNH94blZsAF5YAH1MzpAp-jHVZEESx9zIeXYrXEDyC3mrNreXKdk0/s200/lucy_bed_belt_spanking.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><em>Trust you? Do you know what you're doing?</em> <br />
<br />
I nodded my head, closed my eyes and buried my face in the pillow. My worst spanking nightmare was coming true. I had tasted the belt only once before, and had vowed never to be in the place where it would rear it's ugly head again. Now I was being asked to trust the man that held it in his hand.<br />
<br />
If I can't trust him, who can I trust? He'd never been one for gratuitously inflicting pain. He's dedicated himself to being my protector and my provider. There was clearly nothing he wouldn't do for me, he had proven that again and again.<br />
<br />
So I didn't fight it. I lay as still as possible (which wasn't very still at all, but the best I could do) and submitted to probably the second most painful spanking I had ever had. When he was done, he enveloped me in his arms and waited patiently until I stopped hyperventilating.<br />
<br />
The day went by with less anxiety. I felt as though I could breathe, where before I was gasping desperately for every breath. We've been spending the weekend exercising, attending holiday parties, eating out and basically making up for all time I had lost with my face buried in my hands. I feel freed and back in control. I also feel a bit more confused about the connection between this type of pain and the release of neurotransmitters in the brain. I know I will never be able to bring myself to ask for this type of therapy, something that I admire my friends for being able to do when they need it... but I feel very blessed that I have someone looking out for me that knows when and how to use it effectively.<br />
<br />
<em>Trust you? Yes. I trust you to the depths of my very soul.</em>SugarAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00628576666136112710noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552524845951276211.post-8748857080749035322010-12-10T14:55:00.004-06:002010-12-14T09:51:06.489-06:00Just a Little Peevish?<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVrLlQlr4cutGof3AM-bKGHad0YyJBqiDIl1TR78YXnXy6BTM3uKjy4wZmIb9_-NJxEFKpTWzNLddMDuuRKycOyBORhtBBQHr39FnBaIpMi7pbCiVuJKD8Mu1InA3PoJvr9ziueMoWdKRM/s1600/doc-cylon_56_tram_pararam_45.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVrLlQlr4cutGof3AM-bKGHad0YyJBqiDIl1TR78YXnXy6BTM3uKjy4wZmIb9_-NJxEFKpTWzNLddMDuuRKycOyBORhtBBQHr39FnBaIpMi7pbCiVuJKD8Mu1InA3PoJvr9ziueMoWdKRM/s320/doc-cylon_56_tram_pararam_45.jpg" width="219" /></a></div>I’ve been bragging to my friends of late that I have been virtually unspankable. Okay, I confess, that's not entirely true. Spankable behavior has been mainly due to thoughtlessness, and my unwillingness to consider his feelings in my actions and decisions. When B’Man needs me to take care of a particular task during the day or asks that I refrain from a certain behavior that’s has the potential to drive him to drink, The least I can do is take it seriously and put some real effort into it.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I fail miserably, and B’Man can immediately tell if it was through a willful disobedience and laziness, or if it was one of my attention deficit oversights. For the latter, he will usually smile and afford me grace and mercy. But there will be those times when I will become irritated by the reminder.<br />
<br />
Case in point: I have been sufficiently warned that I am to <a href="http://thesweetnessofsugar-sugaranne.blogspot.com/2010/07/building-kingdom.html">keep the hall closet door closed</a>. The hall is narrow, B’Man’s shoulders are broad, and it’s inconvenient and uncomfortable for him. About a dozen trips bent over the kitchen counter and the sting from a wooden spoon have forged a habit of staying mindful of that door. Rarely do I hear the squeak of the closet door hinges from another room, the signal that I have been negligent. On those rare occasions, I can react in one of two ways. Usually, I’ll drop what I’m doing, run into the hall, my mouth agape, and my hands on my face like that picture of Macaulay Culkin in <em>Home Alone</em>. I might giggle nervously, profusely apologize, and rack my brain as to when I opened the damned thing in the first place. He’ll watch me, assess my body language, check the way I nervously bite my lip, note the genuine surprise in my eyes, and hear the confusion in my voice. I will see in him the signs of a softened heart and a merciful reprieve. He’ll drop his head and his shoulders will bounce up and down as he chuckles to himself. “That’s okay, Babe. Try and pay attention to that, okay?” he’ll say. I’ll kiss him appreciatively, and we’ll move on.<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDyHDd1Bmzjhr4t6T_wrgEKSLybcMP24he20IyZ5Y_Ey7LvTxu5xVJKAj-DJekxjHDWW3sdoZUTTglprysgVHDpxBSlPgLzvcOqJvWzTeaovCOQdF9EnY9ordV0pRuapPWx6SKn5dtFNPl/s1600/spoonspank2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDyHDd1Bmzjhr4t6T_wrgEKSLybcMP24he20IyZ5Y_Ey7LvTxu5xVJKAj-DJekxjHDWW3sdoZUTTglprysgVHDpxBSlPgLzvcOqJvWzTeaovCOQdF9EnY9ordV0pRuapPWx6SKn5dtFNPl/s200/spoonspank2.jpg" width="200" /></a>But there will be other times. I’ll hear the squeak of the closet door hinges, and I’ll immediately feel irritated. Irritated at myself for forgetting, and irritated B’Man for bringing it up. Why can’t he just close the damned thing himself and lay off me? He’ll wait a moment for my apologetic, submissive reaction to the offending sound, and when I don’t show up, he’ll come looking for me. He may find me in the kitchen, my body language telling quite a different story. I’ll be standing erect, defiant. My eyes will shoot daggers at him, insolence dripping from my words. I’ll say something really stupid, like, “get over yourself.”</div><br />
B’Man doesn’t say a word. He reaches for the crock on the counter, and grabs the biggest, heaviest wooden spoon in the arsenal. Suddenly, I realize what I’ve just done, and I can feel the muscles in my face relaxing, moving from an expression of anger to one of sincere remorse. He gently touches my shoulder, turns me around, and I bend over with almost no effort at all on his part. He doesn’t have to tell me what to do… I know the drill. My thumbs will slip into my waist band, and my pants and panties will slide to my thighs. The sting of the wooden spoon to my sit spots is especially painful, I suspect because of the extra infraction of my smart mouth. I might get five or six hard swats from this, and the burn, coupled with my contrition will cause my tear ducts to shoot like tiny water pistols. When he’s done, he’ll drop the spoon on the counter next to me. No more words have to be said.<br />
<br />
B’Man’s pet peeves are all pretty much handled the same way. Keep, the kitchen cabinets closed, keep the remotes in their respective rooms, close out the browser on the computer…<br />
<br />
And now there’s a new one.<br />
<br />
Well it’s not really new, it’s one of those things B’Man’s been nagging me about for years, and I never really paid that close attention. Now with the advent of the wooden spoon, I’ll probably be more mindful of this particular irritation that I’ve been ignoring for years.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMR6bJABPBqqs0DqdxtropxoTUbbzsZ6POEXmvSzHeL3mXJvahKWq9h53wQQh6gcVE7jr5QW-xKQGj_qXQLq4g3OsxuiSpwiSYicoILL8BMTWc0b84ZHRY08DBsFth7odF_oXNMNkJ52Go/s1600/home4+004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMR6bJABPBqqs0DqdxtropxoTUbbzsZ6POEXmvSzHeL3mXJvahKWq9h53wQQh6gcVE7jr5QW-xKQGj_qXQLq4g3OsxuiSpwiSYicoILL8BMTWc0b84ZHRY08DBsFth7odF_oXNMNkJ52Go/s320/home4+004.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>This is a picture of our kitchen. As you can see, at the end of the counter on the right, there is a recycle bin. Now don’t ask me why I keep doing this… I honestly don’t know. But whenever I empty a bottle or a can or a jar, instead of dropping it into the recycle bin, I’ll leave it on the counter. And there it will sit for hours until I clean the kitchen. This drives B’Man absolutely out of his mind. He’s tried to keep a sense of humor about it. He’s teased me, begged me, and made empty threats. He’s done. It is now officially a spankable offense. In the past month there have been at least seven or eight wooden spoon incidents concerning this issue, and I’m unnerved at how often I lose sight of that directive. Apparently it's unnerving him too, because he's not giving me those acts of mercy, regardless of my attitude.<br />
<br />
Just a few days ago as I sat in the easy chair on the right side of the picture with my laptop on my knees. I was chatting in instant messenger with <a href="http://hindsightreflections.blogspot.com/?zx=8bbf301b4af6038e">Kady</a> about this very subject, and explaining how I’ve got some kind of mental block in this area. When she asked how the counter looked now, I assured her that I was in the clear, and that I had just finished polishing the marble to a perfect shine. At that moment, B’Man walked in the door, dropped his briefcase, kissed me hello, and shifted his eyes over to the shiny counter where there sat… the lone paper towel that I used to buff the marble with. It never made it into the recycle bin.<br />
<br />
*Sigh* This is going to be a long winter.SugarAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00628576666136112710noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552524845951276211.post-86539302685232769082010-11-28T08:39:00.001-06:002010-11-28T08:44:02.954-06:00Living with a Spanko<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmbLW8D0-n3Xp3B58TDm1sJXe7-NHnL0GHNlnIYoaVTOT3E3Ak-d4Rf1A-9Tg3OLcz7CftuT5TrVq_r7MJj6pSLy1fs5CM67hVWZ_4DypE1sU42gHDu3bt4TERR_YABPP-oOHOEXntWuPT/s1600/spanko.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmbLW8D0-n3Xp3B58TDm1sJXe7-NHnL0GHNlnIYoaVTOT3E3Ak-d4Rf1A-9Tg3OLcz7CftuT5TrVq_r7MJj6pSLy1fs5CM67hVWZ_4DypE1sU42gHDu3bt4TERR_YABPP-oOHOEXntWuPT/s320/spanko.jpg" width="244" /></a></div>This particular picture reminds me of B'Man and myself. Me with the surprised, pained, but slightly aroused look on my face, and him with the perpetual grin. This is what we look like when he's in his playful mood and I'm in my "Hey, take it easy," mode.<br />
<br />
B'Man's obsession with my rear end has caused his behavior to blossom into constant grabs, pats and swats on public streets, in the lobby of the theater, in the grocery store... I'm not going to say that I don't love it. I do. We started exploring the concept of spanking because of my sexual sensitivity in that area in the first place. But now my crazy lunatic spanko of a husband has taken it to an HNL ( a hole nutha level).<br />
<br />
Living with a spanko is a life dedicated to dodging bullets. B'Man is constantly on the lookout for opportunities to hone his spanking craft, and there's a certain sinister glee in his walk that tends to unnerve a woman committed to protecting her butt from pain. Sometimes I think my man has lost his mind.<br />
<br />
There's a long hallway between our door and the lobby of our building, and I like to stand there in the morning as I watch him walk away toward the exit. Too often he will turn around and walk backwards and exclaim loudly enough for someone to hear through their doors, as well as any undetected persons in the lobby, that I am to behave myself or he will come home and "wax that ass." This is his favorite euphemism for spanking, and his favorite way of watching my face twist in mortification. The fact that he has an obsession with my butt is not a secret to the outside world anymore, and he's coming out of the closet at the most interesting times.<br />
<br />
In Jamaica, we were in the local marketplace where B'Man picked up a spatula. Nothing hand made or interesting, just a regular metal and plastic spatula made in china. The merchant, knowing that we were tourists at the local resort, was confused by his interest. "Do you plan on cooking while you're in Jamaica?" she asked him. <br />
<br />
B'Man replied as he slapped it hard against the palm of his hand, "Yeah. I plan on frying my wife's bacon." <br />
<br />
The merchant tilted her head, glanced at me and smiled knowingly. I could only roll my eyes while B'Man laughed and jabbed me with his elbow.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCzupGjJV9Ry2ijDlaNXTiafGmDJX51kZmalxEyKjQMP7wLKNrz2L_M7_n4bUaR28CS9KkSKRZz49cQmjUb59zsaV__ktj2GQ8oRlzV8agVYdb94BTCjSqAIBj3UjlVc1U_8JT3hP2v2ie/s1600/paddleball+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCzupGjJV9Ry2ijDlaNXTiafGmDJX51kZmalxEyKjQMP7wLKNrz2L_M7_n4bUaR28CS9KkSKRZz49cQmjUb59zsaV__ktj2GQ8oRlzV8agVYdb94BTCjSqAIBj3UjlVc1U_8JT3hP2v2ie/s200/paddleball+2.jpg" width="134" /></a></div>We were in Best Buy recently looking to purchase a new MP3 player, when B'Man noticed a sales associate playing with a plastic paddle ball with the Kodak emblem. He announced that he used to be great at that game, and asked her if he could try it. Well, it had been several years since he played with one, and he couldn't seem to nail it even once, and I laughed and teased him about his pathetically spastic attempts to hit that little rubber ball with the paddle until he gave up. it was obviously a cheap promotional toy left behind by a Kodak sales rep, so B'Man asked if he could have it.<br />
<br />
"You plan on getting good at that again?" I asked.<br />
<br />
"Nah. I plan on using it to wax that ass!" he said whispering loud enough that it seemed that anyone within a 5 foot radius could hear as he slapped the paddle against his hand.<br />
<br />
Aside from the obvious public displays of affection for my backside, he is constantly on the lookout for opportunities to put me over his knee. Several times in the last few months I have made a few off the cuff remarks about personal goals that I want to accomplish. One of them was my desire to cut down, and eventually cut sugar out of my diet completely. The first time I mentioned it, B'Man was getting dressed and coincidentally reaching for his belt. He doubled it in his hand and brought it down hard on the bed inches from where I sat. Then he sported that boyish grin of his and said, "I'd be happy to help you with that endeavor, Baby. Just say the word."<br />
<br />
Flashbacks of his "help" in my quest to quit smoking caused a physical tremor, and I graciously declined his offer.<br />
<br />
"Hey, I can make it so every time you see a candy bar you get the urge to stand up."<br />
<br />
"Yeah, I get the basic idea, thank you anyway."<br />
<br />
"I'm here for you, Baby," he said, pounding his chest proudly with his fist. "That's my job."<br />
<br />
Now I've never been one for maintenance. Many of my friends understand, appreciate and encourage the practice... Frankly it just makes me nervous. While admittedly it may or may not help with stress, it can be as uncomfortable and painful as a punishment, and I'd just as soon avoid it if I can. B'Man likes the idea of maintenance, and while we thankfully have not set a schedule for it, he manages to sneak one in every so often... I suspect more for his benefit than mine. Out of the blue, for seemingly no reason at all he'll say "You haven't had a good spanking in a while. Go bring me the paddle."<br />
<br />
Of course I have to argue about it. "WHY! I haven't done anything!"<br />
<br />
"I know, Baby, and we're going to keep it that way."<br />
<br />
"No way, Uh-Uh! forget it! This maintenance thing is Bullshit!" I snap as I point at him accusingly.<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqdh-BvlRnvnsY0Go1B_IrhTi1WQn5kO5BtxvehyphenhyphenrIDaHC8-BuHrbiYEAUKKTZV5Q1x3qcD28Of1UQBFdpknme-DKsBch8zO0Yk_xis31-6VvfSyucg-XFVJqTZIl7pb6Av4NcPETi8-oR/s1600/elderly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqdh-BvlRnvnsY0Go1B_IrhTi1WQn5kO5BtxvehyphenhyphenrIDaHC8-BuHrbiYEAUKKTZV5Q1x3qcD28Of1UQBFdpknme-DKsBch8zO0Yk_xis31-6VvfSyucg-XFVJqTZIl7pb6Av4NcPETi8-oR/s200/elderly.jpg" width="137" /></a>This is where he'll smile, lean into me and say in a low, threatening voice, "You have 'til the count of three. One... two..."</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The fact that I argue turns it into a punishment. I am tricked. Hoisted by my own petard.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">30 years form now, B'Man and I will likely be together in some retirement home, wheelchair and walker bound... me losing track of my glasses and teeth, and rolling my eyes at him when he expresses his irritation at my forgetfulness and irresponsibility. No doubt he will flag down a CNA or an orderly and tip him a few bucks to go outside and cut him a switch so that he can "wax that ass."</div>SugarAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00628576666136112710noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552524845951276211.post-64253756638558371582010-11-19T11:05:00.000-06:002010-11-19T11:05:10.275-06:00Old Habits<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeAVwpv3NP2E44hO6u2t8yv8_gWGebqp-uu6tcf4vnPoxJVm_c2YJaZM99Zo7ylBsPX5cd19cfarB6-JLbKtcDCYhcNr5W2vu7pv7HgsHtnMcJmZNHfNaTw7B2Uy8PusCPAXHW2XBsEBno/s1600/ignore.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="187" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeAVwpv3NP2E44hO6u2t8yv8_gWGebqp-uu6tcf4vnPoxJVm_c2YJaZM99Zo7ylBsPX5cd19cfarB6-JLbKtcDCYhcNr5W2vu7pv7HgsHtnMcJmZNHfNaTw7B2Uy8PusCPAXHW2XBsEBno/s320/ignore.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>As soon as I think I've got it all figured out, I turn around and do something stupid.<br />
<br />
I have annoying character flaw, and it's something I've been in the habit of doing since I was a kid. Subconsciously I've always been under the impression that whatever the problem, whatever the challenge or concern, if you ignore it long enough, it will eventually go away. Okay, I've gotten more responsible as I've matured, and these situations have come up less and less in my life, but they do still pop up when I'm in my run-away-and-hide moods. <br />
<br />
Here was not a situation where I should have been overwhelmed with indecision or fear. This was just one of those days where I simply did not want to deal my own discomfort, irritation and inconvenience.<br />
<br />
My arthritis medication had begun to fail me and my doctor gave me a trial of something stronger to test for a week. As I adjusted to the new chemical in my body, I dealt with some lethargy and muscle weakness and cut 3 days out of my exercise routine. At the end of the trial I was to call my doctor to let him know that he could call in the prescription. Unfortunately I couldn't reach him over the weekend (I foolishly forgot to call on Friday), and I suffered through two days of the onset of pain, as well as a slightly depression and moodiness, partly from withdrawal, and partly hormonal.<br />
<br />
B'Man had watched me spiral downward this weekend, and had mercifully left me alone to work out the imbalance going on in my body and mind... and then finally had enough. He sat down on the bed Monday morning and gently explained that I needed to move my body, that I had been hanging out in bed way too much, and I needed to get some cardio under my belt. Of course I knew he was right. The longer I hung out in bed, the worse I became. I smiled and agreed with him until he uttered that word that I dread so much.<br />
<br />
"Task," he said.<br />
<br />
"Task?"<br />
<br />
"Task. Take a couple of over the counter pain meds, take your vitamins, have a good breakfast, and get to the gym. You don't have to do your full routine. Even if it's just for a lousy 15 minutes, you need to get out of this house, move your muscles and get your heart pumping. If there's some reason you can't or won't make it to the gym, I want you to contact me and let me know."<br />
<br />
I agreed, kissed him, and saw him off to work.<br />
<br />
Well, as you can imagine, I didn't make it. I just didn't have the energy of the inclination. And this is where I stumbled in my rationale. I knew that if I called him and told him I wouldn't make it, he was going to encourage me to go, and even insist. I know him. He wanted me to contact him so that he'd have the opportunity to give me a pep talk and explain that he is not giving me a choice. If I just ignore the fact that I needed to communicate with him, he would be forced to drop the subject and try again at a later date.<br />
<br />
I spent an hour or so on the computer late that afternoon checking up on my favorite blogs, and surfing around a bit when the Windows IM box opened up. He had seen that I had signed on, and wanted to check in. We chatted for a few minutes, he asked how I was.<br />
<br />
I admitted I still hadn't moved. It was a good thing we were on Instant Messenger, I wouldn’t have been able to look him in the eye.<br />
<br />
"Did you at least take your vitamins?"<br />
<br />
"No."<br />
<br />
"Why don't you go do that."<br />
<br />
I took my vitamins, informed him that the deed had been done, quickly extracated myself from the conversation and changed my messenger availability to "appear offline." After all... if I ignore it, it will go away.<br />
<br />
That evening when he came home, we had a comfortable evening together. Everything seemed fine. He didn't bring up the fact that I had disobeyed him about my workout and contacting him, and I certainly had no intention of bringing it up. But he did bring up something else I had dropped the ball on.<br />
<br />
"Did you call the doctor?"<br />
<br />
"Yes," I said immediately without hesitation. "I left a message with his secretary. He's going to call me back." I lied. There's no need to completely bury myself. I can take care of that little detail on Tuesday. He didn't have to know.<br />
<br />
Tuesday morning as I lay in the bed, I heard him call me from the living room just before he was about to leave. When I walked in he asked me to sit on the coffee table and face him. I cinched my robe around my collar, and sat nervously biting my lower lip. I recognized the signs, I knew what was coming.<br />
<br />
"I know you're having a hard time. That doesn't escape me. But I told you to communicate with me if you weren't going to make it to the gym, and you decided not to. You purposely avoided me, and if I hadn't contacted you, we wouldn't have spoken at all."<br />
<br />
I felt the tears welling up in my eyes. Of course he was right, and I had actually thought that I had gotten away with it. I thought he was going to let it slide. After all, I was so pathetic. I felt myself begin to form my puppydog face.<br />
<br />
"You can't avoid me whenever you feel like it. It's my job to take care of you, and I can't do that if you won't connect with me when I tell you to."<br />
<br />
A tear spilled onto my cheek. Dammit! I hate it when that happens. I wanted to appear strong, stoic, unmoved.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgptlmkRSDgzuJs0tGaXHo_QVG94-Wm_3coyaaY_8AfUtT9J-bO5XzheCKhaY_eJFgfFK5rTsQW_3E5cMHWPmtf0raRrIL-lr4pWGdrHrdXw9A9PWPiLPmeBsViXyvRCvHADPofmHpqjl0V/s1600/woooden+spoon.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgptlmkRSDgzuJs0tGaXHo_QVG94-Wm_3coyaaY_8AfUtT9J-bO5XzheCKhaY_eJFgfFK5rTsQW_3E5cMHWPmtf0raRrIL-lr4pWGdrHrdXw9A9PWPiLPmeBsViXyvRCvHADPofmHpqjl0V/s200/woooden+spoon.bmp" width="200" /></a></div>"Let's take care of this right now," he said. <br />
<br />
With that he walked around to the kitchen, and I watched as he picked a heavy wooden spoon from the crock on the counter. He came back, picked up a throw pillow and placed it on the arm of the couch and instructed me to place myself over it. He handed me another pillow for my face and I draped myself across the arm of the couch and waited while he moved my robe out of the way. I felt the sting of the spoon on my sit spot as I fought hard to remain as still and quiet as possible. The smacks were loud and sharp, and I felt myself beginning to breathe hard as I tried to control my cries, but the pain was too much. My sobs came pouring out of me and into the pillow. Those wooden spoons up to this point had been reserved for those little annoying pet peeve swats here and there, but now they were part of the punishment arsenal, and they created a new level of pain that I hadn't expected. It felt as though it went on forever, while in reality it was only about a minute.<br />
<br />
When he let me up he wrapped his arms around me and I cried quietly into his clean shirt. "You cannot ignore me," he said. "When I tell you you have to communicate, I need to hear from you. We have to keep in touch about your condition. No more hiding. Understood?"<br />
<br />
Okay, I get it. If I had contacted him I could have made my argument, held my ground and convinced him that I needed more rest. He's not an unreasonable man. But I didn't even give him the chance to let him hear me and discuss it with me. I took that away from him.<br />
<br />
I wiped my face and walked him to the door. Before he left, he turned to me and said "Oh, and make sure you talk to your doctor today. Don't lie about it like you did last night."<br />
<br />
My mouth flew open. I was about to yell, "I DIDN"T LIE!" but suddenly thought better of it when I saw his face give me the warning look.<br />
<br />
How does he know these things?SugarAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00628576666136112710noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552524845951276211.post-18157931849396954552010-11-09T19:07:00.000-06:002010-11-09T19:07:00.048-06:00Rambling Writer's Block<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkLsjfsITAtxUTxfgAnYKr8IS1HfZnT79A390j53qLEZUZs39AuTbf2B8vjrl4A7u4k-tNhyq8gPR_ij0-PALHqJoiWp3bN1MaVl0_DYA9EFFM_gUO6BoagdjuPRdIkg37iIFdPH3Z-3-f/s1600/writer%2527s+block.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkLsjfsITAtxUTxfgAnYKr8IS1HfZnT79A390j53qLEZUZs39AuTbf2B8vjrl4A7u4k-tNhyq8gPR_ij0-PALHqJoiWp3bN1MaVl0_DYA9EFFM_gUO6BoagdjuPRdIkg37iIFdPH3Z-3-f/s200/writer%2527s+block.bmp" width="146" /></a></div>B'Man recently remarked that I hadn't posted in quite a while. I could only shrug and reply, I have nothing to post about."<br />
<br />
He generously offered to help me out. "You go bring me my belt, and I'll be glad to give you some inspiration," he smiled.<br />
<br />
I thanked him for his very kind offer, but declined.<br />
<br />
Having nothing to post about is a mixed blessing. On the one hand it puts an indefinite hold on this strange hobby of blogging that I've become so attached to, leaving me to search for other outlets for my creativity... and on the other hand, my lack of subject matter proves that I am reaching that pinnacle in my relationship that I have been looking forward to since we started dd a year ago.<br />
<br />
So, triumphantly I sit in front of a blank computer screen with a severe case of writer's block 15 days after my last post, reflecting over the events of the last 3 weeks. There's a certain amount of pride in knowing that I've managed to avoid punishment for that long. I've kept our home in a certain degree of order, the remotes remain in their rightful place, the closet doors and cabinets are no longer an obstical course, and I'm completing important tasks in a timely manner. <br />
<br />
And here I sit, the very picture of perfection with a grin on my face and nothing to write about. Okay... not quite perfect. A couple of times the wooden spoon has found it's way out of the crock on the counter for the purpose of what B'Man likes to call "<a href="http://thesweetnessofsugar-sugaranne.blogspot.com/2010/07/building-kingdom.html">a pet peeve stinger</a>." And every once in a while the warnings come hurling at me sometimes so fast that I can hear them whistle like bullets as they blow by my ear. "You do that again you'll find yourself across my knee". What were those warnings about? Who knows? They come and go so quickly that they've become background noise, a part of the sound track of my life along with music from the seventies and the sound of the L train in the distance. I subconsciously take note of the infraction, resolve to not repeat it, and move on with my life. <br />
<br />
Yesterday, B'Man picked me up right after work so that we could go to an optometrist and pick out a pair of frames for my new glasses. I wasn't in the best of moods, as I had been struggling with headaches from poor eyesight and chronic dry eye. We parked and went in and I tried on frames and we spoke to the salesman about our insurance and discounts for about 30 minutes. When we came out, we found a parking ticket sitting on the windshield. This only made me feel worse. Not only did I feel like a burden because we would have to drop a few hundred dollars on my new glasses, but the excursion to find them was going to cost another $50.00. I wanted to burst into tears. B'Man adamantly shook his head when he understood my misplaced guilt. "Baby, this is in no way your fault. This is all mine. I'm the one who decided not to put the quarter in the meter. I easily could have. A quarter! I lose that much in the cushions of the couch, and I was too cheap to pay for the parking space thinking I could get away with it." Then he frowned and cocked his head to the side as though a thought just occurred to him. "Hey, maybe I should spank you so I learn to never do that again!"<br />
<br />
Sometimes I worry about that man.<br />
<br />
Along with my seemingly perfect conduct, the truth also is that B'Man has been letting me off the hook more readily lately. There's a compassionate understanding that he's developed over these past few months when I tend to drag him down with me into hormone hell. A few times recently I've snapped and snarled and bared my teeth in response to what I perceived as an insensitive remark or question, only to be met with a gentle touch on my back and a comforting rub between my shoulder blades.<br />
<br />
Sitting in front of a blank screen with writer's block has also given me time to reflect on our most important accomplishment in the last year. As a new blogger, <a href="http://rebekahp-submits.blogspot.com/2010/11/no-more-cigarettes-for-rebekah.html?zx=1a56f4ba615e4eb9">Rebekah</a>, has just revealed her husband's intentions to help her stop smoking, I can't help but let out a sigh of relief that this is, for the most part, all over for me. There is no doubt in my mind that my loving husband saved my life by forcing me to choose between the pain of withdrawal and the pain of severe spankings. My only contribution to the process was that I eventually chose wisely. In discussing the plight of my fellow bloggers going through the same struggle, B'Man revealed to me that he was prepared to "go the distance" had I broken down and had that one last cigarette that I was constantly on the verge of seeking. When I asked him what he meant by that he replied, "spanking isn't enough for something this serious. I'd have to whip you."<br />
<br />
I think my jaw unhinged as I had to pick it up off the floor. I didn't have to ask if he was serious. There was no humor behind those eyes. I knew something like that wouldn't be easy for him. My spankings have ranged from slightly stingy to horrendously painful, but they were always just spankings. A whipping is something I simply can't wrap my mind around, but I realized that he saw this issue as a matter of life or death. Mine. I've always considered this an open issue in that I was still unsure about my ability to forego the opportunity to smoke in a weak moment. After that conversation, there is now no more doubt in my mind. The issue is now forever closed. I am a non smoker, and there's no way I could have done it without him.<br />
<br />
My marriage floats inside a comfort zone where this thing we do is systematically dissolving the arguments, frustration, anger, nagging, yelling, and all the other crap that created resentment. I find myself relaxed and content. I'm thinking maybe I can become one of those wise women in the community that rarely get punished, and always has a thought provoking essay to impart (like<a href="http://findingsara.wordpress.com/"> Sara</a> maybe?).<br />
<br />
Or maybe I'll do something stupid and thoughtless and get my butt whooped tomorrow.<br />
<br />
Only time will tell.SugarAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00628576666136112710noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552524845951276211.post-17146681984396927922010-10-25T00:21:00.000-05:002010-10-25T00:21:02.849-05:00Tuesday Chat<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjegh1SGLYNPv8_0HQWjEFzzavKetzFeH28i0TcYgF5gPd5Z_tmN3mN8KnMtqiKlDnRIFL_bU2KunbwXTCkmBRoykxeqKhSvUAwbFY0jo4kF44exTiW-ylT8GVtlDUnGAQpIhwf3N96C09u/s1600/depressed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjegh1SGLYNPv8_0HQWjEFzzavKetzFeH28i0TcYgF5gPd5Z_tmN3mN8KnMtqiKlDnRIFL_bU2KunbwXTCkmBRoykxeqKhSvUAwbFY0jo4kF44exTiW-ylT8GVtlDUnGAQpIhwf3N96C09u/s200/depressed.jpg" width="169" /></a></div>Tuesday was gray and gloomy, and I woke with a cloud directly over my head. I've put a lot of time and energy into combating the seasonal affective disorder blues. Friends have given me excellent advice on supplements, full spectrum lighting, and other holistic remedies that I have invested in, and for the most part, I've found a satisfying relief from the emotional discomfort I'd endured year after year. But every once in a while it seems like the weather can bypass the treatment, and spin me into a funk.<br />
<br />
B'Man notice my fetal position and curled up with me in the bed after he had been fully dressed. He kissed me on the neck and whispered in my ear,"Do I have to break out the paddle?"<br />
<br />
I managed to smile and shake my head adamantly as I assured him that I would be fine.<br />
<br />
This evening he was expected across town to preach at a friend's ministry, and there were a few things that he wanted me to take care of by the end of the day. A little cleaning, a couple of errands that he needed me to run, a light dinner, and of course, the all important getting to the gym for cardio and endorphins. Certainly not a difficult day in hindsight, but...<br />
<br />
I spent the day dragging. The procrastination monster was hot on my heels, and I had stumbled long enough for it to catch and devour me. I was sure I had put aside enough time to finish everything that he expected of me, and as time went on, I kept telling myself that if I left just a little later, I'd be able to squeeze everything in.<br />
<br />
I stopped off at my mother's house for lunch, and wasted time there eating sweets and watching part of a <em>Law and Order</em> marathon while time slipped away. By the time I left her place for the gym, it was too late. Not only had I finished nothing B'Man had asked me to do, but in my anger with myself, I became angry with him. My workout was whittled down to a worthless ten minutes, I picked up the ingredients for his dinner too late for him to eat before he had to leave, I had cleaned nothing. At the last minute, I raced around to three different stores searching for an item he had asked me to pick up for him. I was a mess, and I was pissed. I called him on the way home and snapped at him that his all important item was no where to be found, and he had sent me on an impossible wild goose chase... and it's his fault that I was running late.<br />
<br />
Walking in the door, I was irritated, nervous and on edge. He was in the living room, rehearsing his sermon for the evening. I angrily tossed the groceries on the counter, and started tearing around the kitchen to prepare his dinner. He stopped rehearsing and put his hand up to tell me that it was okay, that it was too late to start dinner, and he had to leave soon. Luckily he had had a late lunch, so it wasn't a big deal. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>When he finally left, I dove for the phone and dialed my friend Janet from <em><a href="http://wilswife.blogspot.com/?zx=ddf8d2df47cf2ae4">Finding Our Way</a>.</em> She hadn't been around in a while, and I wanted to check on her, and just hear a friendly voice. It was a given that I was going to be spanked hard when B'Man got home that evening. My procrastination and attitude made sure of that, and I really needed someone to talk me down off a ledge. I tried to hide the fact that I was in trouble for the first few minutes of our conversation, but she heard the tremors in my voice and insisted I tell her what was wrong. When the story came out, she said something to the effect of, "Procrastinating again? Will you ever learn?"<br />
<br />
Ah, the love of good friends!<br />
<br />
She had me giggling for about an hour until she had to go, and she made me promise to update her on Wednesday morning... and once again, I was left alone with my guilt and anxiety.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMxj5eBLh2LMRIXLkmUTInVl2Y6O5qyGuZkAXC17l8v5AUbgpkR7HEoUaRFwFI16IHTBP3MAh-jgyyg76IxQ8N2YYCKw8f20hqyrIgmh56zLWrxs1KZVOyIxgxLRI6HXkOnk_LfaZJ0u5u/s1600/computer+angst.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMxj5eBLh2LMRIXLkmUTInVl2Y6O5qyGuZkAXC17l8v5AUbgpkR7HEoUaRFwFI16IHTBP3MAh-jgyyg76IxQ8N2YYCKw8f20hqyrIgmh56zLWrxs1KZVOyIxgxLRI6HXkOnk_LfaZJ0u5u/s200/computer+angst.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>An hour later I got on the computer and logged on to my Tuesday night chat with those women that B'Man calls, "my spanko girlfriends." The story of my infraction came out almost immediately, and as I was teased and jabbed throughout the conversation, I felt not so alone in my fretfulness. There's something about unloading on other women when there's an impending doom looming over your head that gives one a sense of peace... if only for a moment.<br />
<br />
When B'Man pulled into the parking lot, visible from our window, I quickly told everyone goodbye, logged off, and waited.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUoVvpHtWYJXi6kIM4DYauR6ofM0WwEYsLfLkk3vHv2PmCGTeu1RWn_Ufh2sbiF_e2R9db40ocw_Rv70lM2XCyiD9I4vOIqeXU0oos7ng3-zNQrMJ_1drDcitGvZt7nFqTR5_ZAbS_kk_L/s1600/brush+spanked.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUoVvpHtWYJXi6kIM4DYauR6ofM0WwEYsLfLkk3vHv2PmCGTeu1RWn_Ufh2sbiF_e2R9db40ocw_Rv70lM2XCyiD9I4vOIqeXU0oos7ng3-zNQrMJ_1drDcitGvZt7nFqTR5_ZAbS_kk_L/s200/brush+spanked.jpg" width="160" /></a></div>I was immediately taken to the den where I was placed across his knee and spanked hard with the bath brush, my wails muffled by the throw pillow and my legs pinned down between his as he scolded me for not only my disobedience and procrastination, but more importantly my apparent disinterest in keeping the SAD at bay.<br />
<br />
Sore and sniveling, I made my way back to my laptop in the living room, and logged back into the chat room. My girlfriends welcomed me back and pumped me for details with a measure of humor and sympathy. I was given advice, admonishments, jokes, and cyber hugs as I adjusted my throbbing butt on the couch cushions and wiped my tears with the sleeve of my shirt. I sulked and laughed my way through the next 40 minutes or so until B'Man came out and kissed me on the cheek.<br />
<br />
"You still hate me?" he asked.<br />
<br />
"Nah," I said.<br />
<br />
"Good. Be sure to tell your spanko girlfriends I took it easy on you," he said as he went to the fridge for a bottle of water.<br />
<br />
"They won't believe me," I said. "They're already convinced you're a beast."<br />
<br />
He smiled as he walked back into the den. I can't prove it, but I'm pretty sure he gets a kick out of having that reputation, especially since he considers himself a Teddy bear.SugarAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00628576666136112710noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552524845951276211.post-35335942878632062372010-10-22T12:47:00.001-05:002010-10-22T12:56:37.292-05:00The Key Thing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrGYkVqugK7lPnkGmiTlHOweQnE_KacAkBoODy53OdiIMj4mziw2oKWAubibdyw1h0JimcBKaPaMpVVaM_Y0TzCplmLPlqFmJI8wpqq0CGwgm_xFNDnEnrZlRtVfgjlAgjYCI2q21Oeztb/s1600/keys2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrGYkVqugK7lPnkGmiTlHOweQnE_KacAkBoODy53OdiIMj4mziw2oKWAubibdyw1h0JimcBKaPaMpVVaM_Y0TzCplmLPlqFmJI8wpqq0CGwgm_xFNDnEnrZlRtVfgjlAgjYCI2q21Oeztb/s200/keys2.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><a href="http://lovingsugaranne.blogspot.com/2010/10/key-to-pity.html">The whole key thing</a> had gotten out of hand. I couldn't tell you why I kept screwing up in this area, only that I felt out of control every time the keys were misplaced or lost or locked in the car. Here I am, an intelligent woman with an above average IQ, and something was causing me to feel and act like a blithering idiot when it came to those damned keys. The last time was so frustrating I felt sure that some unseen force had taken a choke hold on my brain, and I officially lacked the capacity to be responsible. As I told BabyMan about the lost keys, I cried. I was convinced that I could no longer be trusted... and I hated myself for my own stupidity.<br />
<br />
When I told him over the phone that I had lost my keys, after so many mishaps over the last few weeks, the first thing he did was laugh. Normally, I'd be relieved to hear his laughter. B'Man sports a good sense of humor, and his laughter is usually relaxing to me, like wrapping myself in his arms and being held tight against his chest while I listen to his heart beating as I breathe in his cologne. His laughter is comfort food for me. But this time I could only bury my head in my hands and sob quietly.<br />
<br />
I think at first he considered it not such a big deal. After all, they're just keys, certainly replaceable easily enough, and just a minor inconvenience. But he heard me agonizing over the incident, and realized that it was so much more. There was a sincere fear in my voice. A fear that I was losing confidence in myself, perhaps losing my mind a little. I felt stupid, untrustworthy, out of control, and angry at myself for being irresponsible and careless... again. When he finally made it clear that I was to be spanked for the lost keys, I was surprised. He had never punished me for something like this before. After all, it didn't fall under one of the four categories. I didn't lose the keys out of disrespect, disobedience, or dishonesty or dangerous behavior. It was simply an honest mistake.<br />
<br />
We had plans to go out to dinner with friends that evening. He demanded that I "girl up," not only for the evening, but for a spanking. For a moment I felt worse. Not only am I a complete moron, but now I'm going to be a complete moron with a blistered behind. But I couldn't be angry with him. After all, he had every right to be frustrated with me. Hell, I was frustrated with myself!<br />
<br />
When he got home he wasted no time. But there was something in his demeanor that I hadn't expected. It was compassion. Don't get me wrong, B'Man is a very compassionate man, but I was expecting irritation behind those eyes. He took me to the bedroom and told me to bend over the bed as he lifted my skirt and pealed back my panties. My tears silently splashed on the beadspread.<br />
<br />
"This isn't a punishment, Sugar," he said softly.<br />
<br />
I frowned, confused. "Then what is it?"<br />
<br />
"Well, first, I want you to feel better about this. I think this will help. You're awfully down on yourself, and I know you feel like you've let me down."<br />
<br />
My guilt. He was attempting to alleviate my guilt. I shook my head indicating that I understood him.<br />
<br />
"And second," he went on, "I think you need a reminder that you need to be more careful with your keys. You haven't been paying attention to them. You leave them around, you toss them anywhere and then can't find them when you need them."<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjorYlMWUy3T452h23Eqq0NRpZIjf42NcC8lBrLSC4fSk3T0Hmn4vc7ZgGF3gc6H8H7e45XT-Wcz-F1N2iYRfzOLExpz9r1G3N6i5uIS4EeWNvLwj6Gnn7WT7gP2G1qM_1RylbI668JHWgb/s1600/NorthenSpanking4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjorYlMWUy3T452h23Eqq0NRpZIjf42NcC8lBrLSC4fSk3T0Hmn4vc7ZgGF3gc6H8H7e45XT-Wcz-F1N2iYRfzOLExpz9r1G3N6i5uIS4EeWNvLwj6Gnn7WT7gP2G1qM_1RylbI668JHWgb/s1600/NorthenSpanking4.jpg" /></a></div>He started spanking me hard with the leather paddle, and then he switched over to a hard plastic paddle he had procured a couple of weeks earlier. I tried to suppress the cries, but they built up in my chest like a shaken bottle of beer until they erupted in agonizing wails.<br />
<br />
From now on you're going to keep your keys in one place at all times, do you understand?<br />
<br />
"Yeeesssss"<br />
<br />
"Where do you want to keep them?"<br />
<br />
I shook my head. I couldn't think straight. I just wanted the pain to stop. I was having trouble staying still and I collapsed on the bed. He reached under me and lifted me back into place.<br />
<br />
"You're going to hang them up on the hook behind the door from now on." WHAP! "Right?"<br />
<br />
"Right!"<br />
<br />
This went on for another couple of minutes and then he let me up and hugged me.<br />
<br />
It's funny. I immediately felt better about having lost my keys, locking them in the car, leaving them in the trunk, having to replace them, the inconvenience, and the irresponsibility, and the carelessness... it was all over. Now my keys go on the hook behind the door, and with the exception of maybe a couple of days, I've been extra careful to have them there at all times. Every once in a while out of the blue he'll ask me "Sugar, where are your keys?"<br />
<br />
"On the hook behind the door," I'll say with confidence, my head held high, and a bit of an attitude. <br />
<br />
B'Man just smiles and winks at me. "That's my girl."SugarAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00628576666136112710noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552524845951276211.post-84307889386038993912010-10-20T23:38:00.000-05:002010-10-20T23:38:18.228-05:00Love Our Lurkers VThis is the 5th annual Love Our Lurkers day established by Bonnie of the famed <em><a href="http://bottomsmarts.blogspot.com/">My Bottom Smarts</a></em>. This is a day where we encourage those who have been silently lurking to come out of the shadows and make their presence known to the bloggers they read on a regular basis. We'd all appreciate your participation, and hope that you'd be moved to introduce yourselves. In light of this endeavor, I'd like to share one of my favorite videos that embodies the spirit of coming through the crowd to join the dance. Enjoy, and leave a comment if you're so moved. <br />
<br />
This all happened in a train station in Belgium. Wouldn't you love to have been there?<br />
<br />
<object height="340" width="515"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/7EYAUazLI9k?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/7EYAUazLI9k?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="515" height="340"></embed></object><br />
<br />
B'Man and I love our Lurkers. Take a moment to join the dance and say hi.<br />
<br />
SugarAnneSugarAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00628576666136112710noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552524845951276211.post-43119070415757308622010-10-12T11:10:00.003-05:002010-10-12T12:22:16.968-05:00Antagonistic to Harmonious<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO31QMeGd8zK4cn296ZE2jEnZE4KkaLGDqBEQhPyaxC8Z_clh1iuNpDyq7Dry9xvrIQkGFCRofnj7d7tzMsU7_ycjmyKqTt-DGEmMa7f1Bg02cXOct3lIpp5PoQxi2_gUv3A3YnqVcuIRv/s1600/tug.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO31QMeGd8zK4cn296ZE2jEnZE4KkaLGDqBEQhPyaxC8Z_clh1iuNpDyq7Dry9xvrIQkGFCRofnj7d7tzMsU7_ycjmyKqTt-DGEmMa7f1Bg02cXOct3lIpp5PoQxi2_gUv3A3YnqVcuIRv/s200/tug.bmp" width="200" /></a><span class="txt">Mason Cooley once said, "Antagonistic cooperation is the principle of all markets and many marriages." I have been living in this bubble for several months since we started ttwd, understanding the benefits, and yet holding on to my own angst. My cooperation was (and often still is) filed with a non-specific anxiety, until recently when I started to notice a change in myself.</span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="txt"></span>It started to happen so subtly that I didn't even catch it at first. The habit crept into my marriage like a house guest who came for the weekend and decided to put down roots in the living room. I'm talking about my willingness to be corrected after dropping the ball on one of B'Man's spankable pet peeves. It happens quickly, cleanly, without words most of the time, and once it's over I return to my regularly scheduled programming after a word from my sponsor.</div><br />
Perhaps you can relate if I describe it this way:<br />
<br />
In the Movie <em>The Sound of Music</em>, Captain Von Trapp calls his children down to introduce them to Maria, the new Governess. They march in Military style, single file all the way down the stairs in perfect unison, but something is out of place. Brigitta, Played by Angela Cartwright, is conspicuously missing from the line, but comes in from another room with her nose in a book . Captain Von Trapp walks over to her, clears his throat, and she slowly lowers the book to find a mildly irritated father glaring at her. He holds his hand out and she sheepishly hands him the book, and without being asked to, turns around and slightly bends over while the Captain gives her a light swat with the book on her backside. There are no words, no arguments, no tears, no resentment, no anger, and Brigitta knows exactly what is expected of her.<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxJrJ7T5uo7_g2edxsCyo5K_vt42pG0kUDfNUQb7xObNuuXSCEoCVPhUGD4OZclwxZUXPyV6BWv0Ce6ndmNGw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>This is what is happening with B'Man and myself. I noticed it last week when I was in the kitchen working on dinner, B'Man bellowed in his inimitable way that the remote was missing from the den... again. I remember grimacing for a moment as I scanned the living room with my eyes, spotted the wayward remote and raced over to retrieve it. I trotted to the den to find my captain with his hands on his hips and a glare in his eyes. I handed it to him and searched his eyes for some hint of a reprieve. There was none. I, like Brigitta, knew exactly what was expected of me, and without being prompted, turned around and bent over giving B'Man a clear target. I felt two stinging slaps to my behind with the long, flat, plastic remote, and waited until I heard him collapse on the couch and turn on the television. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">It was only slightly painful, a tad embarrassing, and a bit humorous as I trotted back to the kitchen to finish peeling my eggplant. Within seconds the incident is forgotten, put behind me, and I am laughing at some tone deaf contestent on <em>Dont Forget the Words</em>. I'm beginning to fight ttwd less and less with everyday that goes by, and lately I've begun to even invoke a comfortable cooperation in the whole process. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I guess the antagonism is being burned off to reveal a harmonious gold underneath. Don't get me wrong, I've still got a bit of a disobedient fight in me, but I'm learning how to pick my battles. And strangely enough, there seem to be fewer of them.</div>SugarAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00628576666136112710noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552524845951276211.post-78937203094767249082010-10-03T20:18:00.001-05:002010-10-03T20:20:17.855-05:00Bottle or Paddle Battle<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA31mrPJgk_yz9G8k-SZyIpzrZoUR33PRoRtALrkmvBf-VtrUDGq5XDJh5-eqAyjiRALpswDMS3e4aGh5MeftKhfWOsvEYaQrrZliUjjANZ8skhpAca3EkHhKjYlaLbaQ2XZB23tcvRbgF/s1600/pill-bottle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA31mrPJgk_yz9G8k-SZyIpzrZoUR33PRoRtALrkmvBf-VtrUDGq5XDJh5-eqAyjiRALpswDMS3e4aGh5MeftKhfWOsvEYaQrrZliUjjANZ8skhpAca3EkHhKjYlaLbaQ2XZB23tcvRbgF/s200/pill-bottle.jpg" width="156" /></a></div>He's been watching my condition deteriorate for the past couple of years. Even though I work out vigorously and lead a fairly normal and healthy lifestyle, he all too often notices those times when I am in pain, and he's not fooled by my attempts to try to hide it from him, or shrug it off as though it's nothing. I'll get up from a seated position and my face will contort in a painful wince, and for about 30 seconds, I'll begin to walk as though I were an 80-year-old woman with my back hunched over and my knees locked together until I can straighten up. These are the times when I have neglected to take my medication prescribed by my rheumatologist to alleviate pain and increase range of motion.<br />
<br />
The most profound side affect of my medication is drowsiness, but if I take them before bed, I am relatively pain free for most of the following day. That's if I remember. I admit I have a habit of forgetting them, or procrastinating until it's too late (like at 4:00 am). BabyMan has done his best to remind me and encourage me to take my meds more seriously and diligently... to no avail. I am foolishly hopeless and hopelessly foolish as I never seem to put my medication high on my list of priorities.<br />
<br />
This evening was the last straw. BabyMan had reached the end of his patience. We both knew the bottle was almost empty, and I had put off refilling my prescription as I had been down to my very last pill for a while. That little capsule has been bouncing around inside of that big red bottle like a bebe in a box car for days as I have been putting off my errand... not out of wilful disobedience, or a lack of desire to feel better, but simply out of forgetfulness, misplacing the bottle, and general inconvenience when I did remember. I had been substituting the pill with the over the counter Aleve for days, and it was obviously not doing it's job... because BabyMan was noticing the stiffness in my walk and the pain on my face.<br />
<br />
So this evening we both sat in the den watching television, he sprawled out on the couch, and me at the computer. It had gotten dark and I was fighting to stay awake to watch the end of Law and Order. BabyMan notice me nodding in and out, and asked "Did you take your pill tonight?"<br />
<br />
"Uh... no, not yet."<br />
<br />
"Go take it now."<br />
<br />
"Okay... when this is over."<br />
<br />
"No. Go take it right now. You'll forget and crawl into bed when this is over."<br />
<br />
I sighed and looked around the room as I tried to remember where I had left it, and indeed, when I even last had it.<br />
<br />
"Do you even know where it is?"<br />
<br />
"Um..." I was sleepy. We had eaten a couple hours earlier, and I wanted to lay down more than anything.<br />
<br />
"Well?"<br />
<br />
"I don't know where it is, but I think it's empty anyway." I knew there was one left in there, but I didn't want to go searching for it.<br />
<br />
"You think?"<br />
<br />
"Yeah, it's empty," I said with a more definite resolve.<br />
<br />
"Go find the bottle."<br />
<br />
"What for? It's empty." The lie was sounding more believable even to myself.<br />
<br />
"Bring the bottle to me."<br />
<br />
Damn! he wasn't going to let this go. I could tell another lie to cover my last lie by telling him that I threw it away... and for a split second I considered it just to get out of this. But I knew better. I rose from the computer chair, winced at the pain in my hips, and slowly dragged my feet out of the room to my bedroom dresser to look for the bottle. It wasn't there, and now I was irritated that he was sending me on a wild goose chase when all I wanted to do was sleep. I marched back in the den and sat back down defiantly. "Screw it, I can't find it, I'll find it tomorrow." I announced.<br />
<br />
"You can't find the bottle... then go get the paddle," he said as he sat up and placed a pillow on the floor between his legs, a position I was all too familiar with.<br />
<br />
"Oh, you gotta be kidding me!"<br />
<br />
"The bottle or the paddle. What's it gonna be?"<br />
<br />
I decided it sure as hell wasn't going to be the paddle. I stood up and went into the front room to look for the bottle. The kitchen, the living room, the dining room table... It was nowhere.<br />
<br />
When I returned to the den, I whined like a tired 3-year-old. "I can't find it!"<br />
<br />
"Then get the paddle," he said again. He was beginning to sound like a broken record. <br />
<br />
No way! I went to the bathroom, and then to the bathroom in the master bedroom. It had to be here somewhere. Dammit, why can't I remember?<br />
<br />
There was clearly no way out of this. I decided to simply get this over with as it was the only way I was ever going to get any sleep. I went to the bedroom and grabbed the paddle from the hook on the wall, went back to the den and roughly shoved it at him. Tears of exhaustion and humiliation gathered at the corners of my eyes as I knelt on the pillow between his feet. He lifted my chin with his finger and told me to lower my sweat pants. <br />
<br />
"You need to take your medication more seriously," he said quietly. "You need to know where it is at all times and you need to take it consistently."<br />
<br />
I suppressed the need to yawn and I nodded my head.<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1xeDieDoBAboH_iAFIAMk_zd4ipF1Su1ttxOZgixPIpE7M6gXrVmeKI-ga77m0UblvCaJzaHvRuDbl2Chf8g1gBRj5Ith8xJPZ4_BD7UJfyFWLx-ftEXT0OQgtBdbINFHClWfaeymTISJ/s1600/crossed.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; height: 200px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; width: 151px;"><img border="0" height="200" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1xeDieDoBAboH_iAFIAMk_zd4ipF1Su1ttxOZgixPIpE7M6gXrVmeKI-ga77m0UblvCaJzaHvRuDbl2Chf8g1gBRj5Ith8xJPZ4_BD7UJfyFWLx-ftEXT0OQgtBdbINFHClWfaeymTISJ/s200/crossed.bmp" width="134" /></a>"You've been in pain way too often, and when I tell you to take your medication, you don't do it and lie to me about it."</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>"I don't lie," I lied.<br />
<br />
"Really? Did you take it last night when I reminded you?"<br />
<br />
"Yeah. I think so."<br />
<br />
"You think so? Either you did or you didn't."<br />
<br />
"I... I couldn't find it last night."<br />
<br />
"So that was a lie."<br />
<br />
I didn't answer. he guided me over his left knee and I grabbed the throw pillow and buried my face. <br />
<br />
"We're going to refill that prescription tomorrow, and you're going to keep it in one place so that you can always find it. Understand?"<br />
<br />
"Yes."<br />
<br />
He started spanking me with the paddle, softly at first, and then it got harder as he continues to talk. "And when I tell you to take your pill, you're going to take it immediately, and not put it off until you're too tired and you forget."<br />
<br />
My bottom was beginning to sting and I sobbed quietly as I fought to remain still.<br />
<br />
"Now, where are you going to keep your bottle from now on?"<br />
<br />
I lifted my face out of the pillow and shrugged my shoulders.<br />
<br />
"Pick a place. Now." WHAP!<br />
<br />
"Ow! Um... okay... the copper platter on the kitchen counter."<br />
<br />
"Good place. I'll keep my meds there too, so we'll both remember. We'll support each other, okay?"<br />
<br />
"Okay," I said as I put my face back in the pillow and cried some more as he finished off the spanking with some well placed strikes to my sit spot. <br />
<br />
When he was done, he lifted me up, handed me the paddle, and I staggered off top the bedroom where I replaced it on the wall and collapsed on the bed falling asleep without undressing. <br />
<br />
I never could win these little battles of the wills. But for some reason, I keep trying every once in a while.SugarAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00628576666136112710noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552524845951276211.post-78628937572924024962010-09-24T01:35:00.005-05:002010-09-24T07:45:24.354-05:00Autumn Winds<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDnG16TFCbNNw3Qd3VJ3OUvA852h-PoPGtgzjsySHISJQh1jYBncwBsIC6Cug_1CrAS8G9aar-8H9uH58F6bee5RuCDLBW5YT_jtGaYeI594c4__Pcv_2Q9Pw_oOQezS8ZyMdjvkrzhbZa/s1600/depressed-girl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDnG16TFCbNNw3Qd3VJ3OUvA852h-PoPGtgzjsySHISJQh1jYBncwBsIC6Cug_1CrAS8G9aar-8H9uH58F6bee5RuCDLBW5YT_jtGaYeI594c4__Pcv_2Q9Pw_oOQezS8ZyMdjvkrzhbZa/s1600/depressed-girl.jpg" /></a></div>It's happening. The summer's gone, and the cold and the darkness are setting in... not overwhelmingly yet, but little by little I'm feeling my joy being siphoned out me as I awaken to a dark bedroom with a little bit of a chill in my bones. My emotions are just a little out of control as BabyMan moves about going through his normal routine as though it's not happening. But it is happening. I feel myself becoming teary eyed and start to sink into what BabyMan calls <em>the abyss</em>. As a drop of morning's light begins to stream into the room while he dresses in front of his closet, he glances over at me and tilts his head as it dawns on him what's happening. He asks me if I'm alright, and upon hearing my pathetic affirmative mumble, decides that it's time for him to do something. He doesn't want this thing to get out of hand. </div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">This is the first time he's seen the symptoms rise in me this year, and he can't... he won't allow me to retreat into my personal hell. He tells me to take the covers off, turn over and hug my pillow. I know what he's up to, and I can't argue. Since last December, he's known what to do in this situation, and even though it's uncomfortable, there's something cathartic about releasing my emotional discord through the physical pain. He comes in and pulls me out of my anguish by slapping my behind, first with the leather paddle, and then with a loopy Johnny that was gifted to us. The paddle I can take. I'm used to it. The sting pushes my emotional angst through my eyes in the form of hot steamy tears as I press my pillow against my body. Then he grabs the loopy and gently uses a soft wrist action to let it drop on me. It hurts more than I could ever imagine, and I begin to cry audibly. Softly at first, and then I begin to wail, screaming into the pillow and convulsing. My emotional and physical pain become one, and I release them into the atmosphere in a series of gut wrenching sobs as I try unsuccessfully to remain still.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">When he's through, he holds me and reassures me that I will be fine, and tells me how much I'm loved as he wraps me in the cocoon of his arms until it's time for him to finish preparing for work. Before he leaves, he sits down on the bed for his instructions to me.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The kitchen and living room are a mess as we had relaxed ourselves into a coma all weekend with the exception of church services on Sunday. The sink overflowed with dishes, the marble counter cluttered with cooking utensils and dirty pans from a couple of elaborate meals I had prepared. We had shed our clothing and tossed them all over the couches, and the floor held several pair of our shoes and socks. Now the weekend was over and it was time to once again become grownups and live as though we were raised as civilized human beings.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">"The front room's a mess, Babe," he said.</div><br />
"Yeah," I mumble as I rubbed my stinging bottom with the palm of my hand. "Who's gonna clean it up?" I quip.<br />
<br />
"Well, I don't know," he smiles. "but It needs to be clean when I get home. I'm sure you'll find someone to do it."<br />
<br />
I nod my head.<br />
<br />
"That's your task for today. That and... make sure you get to the gym."<br />
<br />
We both knew that the endorphins from the cardio and weight training will enhance my energy and lift my mood for hours if not days. I promise I will as he kisses me and pulls the covers over my naked body so that I can drift off to sleep.<br />
<br />
I awake about 30 minutes later, dress in my workout clothes, make a half-assed attempt at straightening the front room, and pack my gym bag with the necessities to spend an hour or so at the YMCA. <br />
<br />
At 10:30 I receive a call from my mother who invites me to lunch. I had planned to go to the gym about a mile from her place anyway, so I say yes. I should have known better. It's not easy for me to have a full lunch with Mom and still get to the gym, and I was already dragging. I think I know deep down that I'm not going to make it... and I don't. I spend the day wallowing in my own misery, allowing myself to be distracted, overeating, depressed, defiant in my laziness. I'm more than willing to let the Seasonal Affective Disorder win, and I just don't care.<br />
<br />
I arrive home about 5:45. I had gotten a little bit accomplished in the front room, but it was still in a bit of disarray. I had managed to get to the market on the way home to buy the ingredients for dinner, and when I walk in BabyMan is standing in the middle of the leftover mess, arms folded, disappointed. The conversation is abrupt, curt. Stressful.<br />
<br />
"Where have you been?" he demands.<br />
<br />
"At Mom's."<br />
<br />
"Why didn't you answer your phone? I called you about 30 minutes ago."<br />
<br />
"I left it at Mom's place. I didn't realize it until I got to the store."<br />
<br />
"Looks like you didn't get much done around here."<br />
<br />
"I got a little done." I look around at the mess. "I tried."<br />
<br />
He shrugs and sits down in the overstuffed chair. "Dinner?" he asks.<br />
<br />
"Ready in about 15 minutes" I say, relieved that he's not pushing the issue.<br />
<br />
"How was your workout?"<br />
<br />
<em>Damn!</em> I immediately want to tell him that it went just fine, and let the subject drop there... but lying to him is something that had become more and more difficult for me to do since we started ttwd. Our relationship had changed to the point where lying simply was no longer an option. He always knows when I'm lying. I can't look him in the eye, I can't steady my voice. There is no choice here.<br />
<br />
"I... didn't get to the gym."<br />
<br />
"Why not?"<br />
<br />
"I... lost track of time."<br />
<br />
We stare at each other for a moment, lost in the uncomfortable quiet of the room. I move behind the kitchen counter and begin to make dinner.<br />
<br />
We eat in silence while we watch old reruns of <em>Sienfeld.</em> I never know if he's going to be merciful and let me slide at this point. Sometimes he will, and sometimes...<br />
<br />
"I want you to go to the bedroom and put your pajamas on and lie across the bed over pillows," he says as I clear the dishes from the table.<br />
<br />
There is no argument. I <em>have</em> no argument. I walk into the bedroom and prepare. When he comes in, I am already in tears, terrified that he's going to reach again for the loopy johnny. When I looked back I am relieved that he had his belt in his hand. The belt that I've been frightened of since day one. He steps in front of me and kneels down so that we are face to face. "You know how important it was that you get to the gym. You know that your workout is crucial to your emotional health. You decided to blow it off."<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5lzQJW13wgbZRzPpDPX4hA8GjEYgXVkOpGOIbqhQWu3iqA4kaKbSfRF_QB0F0eKBapT_zZFLKZee4pUx4MtQmG5d6uVfp3FgaAzK63P8M307WmsbpVCsUbEJ6VuLnM6ZeZnJ6K3pXWZN8/s1600/bed+spanked.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="139" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5lzQJW13wgbZRzPpDPX4hA8GjEYgXVkOpGOIbqhQWu3iqA4kaKbSfRF_QB0F0eKBapT_zZFLKZee4pUx4MtQmG5d6uVfp3FgaAzK63P8M307WmsbpVCsUbEJ6VuLnM6ZeZnJ6K3pXWZN8/s200/bed+spanked.bmp" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">"No, I didn't decide... it just... happened." </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">"Well we're going to make sure it doesn't<em> just happen</em> again. You will not disobey and ignore me with something this important. Do you understand?"</div><br />
I begin to cry loudly, my nose is running and the tears are starting to soak the bed. He moves behind me and pulls down my pajama bottoms. I heard the lecture continue as I felt the sting of the belt come down on my behind over and over again in the same spot. When I move my hand back to protect myself, I hear him sternly warn me... and I again reach for the pillow. The pain is intense, I find myself biting down on my pllow to keep from squirming too much. I yell out "Please, Please, " over and over again, only to be ignored.<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbQ4zcQdI76fo-i9eIwJy1SA3WrIssqn8Seorr6oQgsDQB4A1dgfoTLQz54ovGlVAdpLGIwfQeTshdjz4-ipwzpK8SEGqRJQwuc7XOcuZB_8Wu7J6uefaix9rk2WBRqtLr_DLvEfPEtM04/s1600/sun+worship.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: right; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbQ4zcQdI76fo-i9eIwJy1SA3WrIssqn8Seorr6oQgsDQB4A1dgfoTLQz54ovGlVAdpLGIwfQeTshdjz4-ipwzpK8SEGqRJQwuc7XOcuZB_8Wu7J6uefaix9rk2WBRqtLr_DLvEfPEtM04/s200/sun+worship.bmp" width="183" /></a>Suddenly the spanking stops. I'm swollen, hot, exhausted, angry at myself. He's rubbing something soothing on my bottom, then bends down and kisses me on the offended area before he leaves me to return to the living room.</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">It's over. </div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Tomorrow, I think I'll clean the house and go to the gym.</div>SugarAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00628576666136112710noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552524845951276211.post-47465870449113560622010-09-16T10:40:00.000-05:002010-09-16T10:40:26.651-05:00Riddle Me This, Batman...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr2Ld25IP1Lorl_PcKZVDGduMuaF742JsZpIdMf4B0TQAs3J4bNtDctzES-9fnhXHCX6iQeEXJDBTWuGBKQ0Gy-8pbE96P2Igc_0G1IbMx1xTO6Czg6akHUedrx0-dO6ViWj8JRBJwxR4e/s1600/joker_spanks_batgirl_3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr2Ld25IP1Lorl_PcKZVDGduMuaF742JsZpIdMf4B0TQAs3J4bNtDctzES-9fnhXHCX6iQeEXJDBTWuGBKQ0Gy-8pbE96P2Igc_0G1IbMx1xTO6Czg6akHUedrx0-dO6ViWj8JRBJwxR4e/s320/joker_spanks_batgirl_3.jpg" /></a></div>If the Joker spanks Batgirl, should she take it seriously?<br />
<br />
There are times when I just don't know if BabyMan is joking. He often displays a look on his face that has an ambiguously serious glare or a humorous gleam in his eye. He likes it this way. It keeps me on my toes, and having acquired my Bachelors degree in BabyManology a few years ago, I can usually read his body language with some degree of accuracy... usually.<br />
<br />
This past weekend we decided for the first time since our immersion into the wonderful world of domestic discipline, that we would entertain another couple who are a part of this community and enjoy the same lifestyle we do. We had been a bit reluctant in the past and also a tad paranoid since the Parker/Brinlee incident to open ourselves up to anyone, realizing that information can be easily passed from person to person purely unintentionally, but nevertheless, dangerously. We kept our profiles low from the eyes of those who's self righteous attitudes would cause them to lash out at us, and in the process remained hidden from the very people with whom we want to connect.<br />
<br />
So recently we decided to open up to one couple who were passing through town on route to their home from a short vacation. <br />
<br />
Now here is where the ambiguity comes in. The day before we are to meet this couple at a restaurant a few miles from our home, BabyMan decides that he is obliged to give me one of those R<em>emember Your Place, Woman</em> spankings. I had read about them in various blogs before. It's not necessarily a maintenance spanking, and certainly not a punishment. There was an air of eroticism in the application, and yet a bit of drama displaying a touch of grievance and irritation, but mostly... it's a warning.<br />
<br />
Sunday evening I was on the computer in a quick chat with another blogger when BabyMan walked into the den carrying the Weapon of Ass Destruction. He placed it on the arm of the couch and sat down. I looked at the paddle, and then at his face as I searched for answers. <br />
<br />
"Say goodbye to your friend and come over here," he demanded.<br />
<br />
I blinked incredulously as I usually do when he does this. This is our routine. He expects to be able to demand that I place myself across his lap obediently without question or hesitation... and I... disobediently hesitate and ask lots of questions.<br />
<br />
"What's this all about?" I asked.<br />
<br />
He sighed, frustrated. "Why do you always have to question me?"<br />
<br />
I sighed, just as frustrated. "What's the big secret? Why can't you just tell me?"<br />
<br />
"Because you need practice being submissive."<br />
<br />
"I do not. There's nothing wrong with the way I submit."<br />
<br />
"...she said defiantly." He grabbed the paddle and slapped it hard against the couch. I jumped just enough to give away the fact that I was intimidated. "let's go... NOW!"<br />
<br />
He glared at me with a look in his eye that lingered somewhere between sober determination and humor. I turned back to the computer screen, told my friend that I was being summoned, and closed out the Yahoo Messenger. These are the times that make me a bit nervous. I pretty much have a 50/50 chance that this is going to be a lighthearted guilt free and pain free paddling for no particular reason other than he wants the closeness and connection. Those are nice. The other possibility is that he's pissed off about something that he's been bottling up and trying to avoid mentioning because he's convinced himself that it's not worth a confrontation... until it causes him to explode all over my backside.<br />
<br />
I kneel next to him on the couch and venture to inquire one more time. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"<br />
<br />
He gently grabbed my shoulders and pushed me down across his lap. "Relax," he said. "I just want to get a few things straight."<br />
<br />
"A few things like what?"<br />
<br />
"We've got one of your chat girlfriends and her husband coming to visit tomorrow, and I think we should have an understanding."<br />
<br />
I didn't like the sound of this. I tried to push myself back up, but he held me down pushing me firmly into the couch cushions while the other hand yanked down my panties. "Every once in a while you get a little too testosterony."<br />
<br />
"Testoster... what? That's not even a word!"<br />
<br />
"Testosterony. You act like you've got a little too much testosterone coursing through your veins, and you like to push the envelope. Remember when you put on your new weight training gloves last week? You strutted around here giving me attitude like you overdosed on steroids." The paddle came down on my butt cheek making my legs buck. <br />
<br />
"Ow! I don't know what you're talking about!" <br />
<br />
"Oh, I think you know exactly what I'm talking about. And while I let you get away with that when it's just the two of us, you're not going to show off for your girlfriend." <br />
<br />
This wasn't fair at all! I haven't done anything wrong... yet.<br />
<br />
"You're not going to boss me around," WHAP! "You're going to watch your tone with me," WHAP! "and you're not going to disrespect me in any way, do you understand?" His voice was calm and rational while I was beginning to panic. The strikes of the paddle were getting harder, and began to sting my sit spot. I grabbed onto his ankle and squeezed hard with every strike of the paddle.<br />
<br />
"You have a tendency to tell me to shut up," he went on.<br />
<br />
"Okay, I do. But it's in a really respectful way!"<br />
<br />
I could feel his body shake in suppressed laughter. "Yes, Baby, I know. You tell me to shut up very respectfully. But your not going to say it at all during this meeting. Understood?" WHAP!<br />
<br />
"Yes! I understand!" <br />
<br />
"Who's HoH?" WHAP!<br />
<br />
"Ow! You are!"<br />
<br />
"And who's the submissive wife?" WHAP!<br />
<br />
I gritted my teeth, held my tongue and moved my hand back to protect myself. I can never seem to answer this question with any degree of ease and conviction. He grabbed my wrist and jerked it out of the way. <em>"Who?"</em> WHAP!<br />
<br />
"All right, dammit, I am!"<br />
<br />
"You're going to treat me as though I were your first thought... and your last thought."<br />
<br />
"I always do!"<br />
<br />
"Yes, of course you do, Baby, I just want to make sure that doesn't change" He brought the paddle down on me a few more times as I squeezed my eyes shut. "Now let me tell you what will happen if I'm unhappy with your behavior..."<br />
<br />
<em>Oh, God, here it comes.</em><br />
<br />
"If I have to remind you just once not to cross the line, we will excuse ourselves, and I will march you into this room, shut the door and your friend will hear you get a spanking you won't soon forget. Got it?"<br />
<br />
"What?" I laughed nervously. <em>He's kidding... he's got to be kidding!</em><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFzveRLtCQaBPpx8IT3VhhIcqKK8jfZhcpX6IYINrZy-u-cN8mBwLNk1SlgjmcsJmAtitPYVwoVDi5QrPNgKfB3V52lDLAfw5tKghCjd8OOLjsWRLn9cF3LAUT9XjWBLoWN_dpmZgyJwVB/s1600/jayemwhatabrute.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" qx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFzveRLtCQaBPpx8IT3VhhIcqKK8jfZhcpX6IYINrZy-u-cN8mBwLNk1SlgjmcsJmAtitPYVwoVDi5QrPNgKfB3V52lDLAfw5tKghCjd8OOLjsWRLn9cF3LAUT9XjWBLoWN_dpmZgyJwVB/s320/jayemwhatabrute.jpg" width="228" /></a></div>"Or better yet, maybe I'll just do it right in front of them."<br />
<br />
I felt myself gasp, This all had to be a huge joke, right? His demeanor was humorless, but his words were so bizarrely ridiculous, that I had to stop myself from bursting into laughter. But again... I couldn't be sure if he meant what he was saying. So I said those famous last words that so many dd wives spanning the generations have said to their husbands. "YOU...WOULDN'T...DARE!"<br />
<br />
"I absolutely would."<br />
<br />
"You would not!"<br />
<br />
"Oh no? You really want to try me?"<br />
<br />
I felt the sting of that paddle in a consistent rhythm for a few minutes as I grabbed a throw pillow and screamed into it.<br />
<br />
I went to bed that night shocked, confused, unsure of his resolve, sure of his lunacy, a little nervous, and a lot sore.<br />
<br />
The visit with our new friends went very well, and I was the model of submissive perpetuity. BabyMan tossed me only a raised eyebrow when at one point I took the lead and forcefully hijacked the plans for the evening. But all in all, he was very proud of me. But here it is four days later, and I still have no idea if he would have carried out his threat. I don't think I'll ever know for sure if he would have the nerve to spank me in front of others, because I'll never give him a reason to. But as I work on my study of BabyManology for my Masters, I have come to realize that this particular mid term exam was no better than a C- because... I'll never really know the answer to that question... God willing.SugarAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00628576666136112710noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552524845951276211.post-21030674819767790972010-09-05T15:40:00.005-05:002010-09-06T11:12:29.546-05:00I Love it When...<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiid5NeTsffAu1Z7po5TFfIcSZQw53t5pi6GDt1zmg-gFXHUiy9xq7TwOGqP99HYEi1egi9iPO7bI8vJ_Ui-raoSJhTWe5gqqcPyRjcJCOt4A3CMfUI0aMnEsc_wm35NuzscSmvQCzAm5x1/s1600/Roadrunner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="187" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiid5NeTsffAu1Z7po5TFfIcSZQw53t5pi6GDt1zmg-gFXHUiy9xq7TwOGqP99HYEi1egi9iPO7bI8vJ_Ui-raoSJhTWe5gqqcPyRjcJCOt4A3CMfUI0aMnEsc_wm35NuzscSmvQCzAm5x1/s320/Roadrunner.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>... we're sitting in the living room after dinner. I'm watching a movie on TV, and BabyMan is reading a book in the overstuffed easy chair. I glance over at him to find that he is already looking at me, lovingly at first, then a bit lecherously with a wicked grin that makes my eyebrows jump.<br />
<br />
"What are you looking at?" I snipe mockingly.<br />
<br />
"You." His smile broadens and his head cocks to the side. "When was the last time I spanked you?"<br />
<br />
<em>Uh oh... where's he going with this?</em> "Three days ago, you beast."<br />
<br />
He looks up at the ceiling to refresh his memory. It takes a moment, but the scene suddenly comes back to him in a wave of humor. He chuckles. "Oh yeah. You left the closet door open again." Suddenly there's a cold determination in his eye, his smile plastered on his face like an escapee from an asylum. "Well it seems to me that you're overdue."<br />
<br />
<em>Ah, so you want to play, huh?</em> I had been here many times before. I point a shaky finger at him and narrow my eyes. "You stay away from me!"<br />
<br />
He snaps the book shut. "Go get the paddle."<br />
<br />
"No!" I observe a genuine look of surprise on his face. "You want to spank me, I'll be damned if I'm going to help you. You do your own dirty work."<br />
<br />
The book drops to the floor and he's suddenly on his feet. Instinctively I rise and back away around the couch. My eyes are locked with his, resolute in my defiance. I note that his grin has disappeared, replaced with a stoned faced demeanor. <br />
<br />
"Do not make me chase you, SugarAnne."<br />
<br />
I fold my arms and jut out my chin trying desperately to keep from smiling. "I'll<em> <strong>make</strong></em><strong> </strong>you do whatever I <em><strong>want</strong> </em>you to do."<br />
<br />
That does it. He heads to the hallway that leads to the bedroom as I quickly move to the other side of the dining room table. He returns in a moment, not with the paddle, but with the bath brush that I hate so much. I laugh nervously. "Oh, you gotta be kidding me!"<br />
<br />
"Come here," he demands<br />
<br />
"Kiss my ass!"<br />
<br />
He slaps the brush against the palm of his hand. "Oh, I'm going to kiss it all right," he growls.<br />
<br />
I'm getting nervous. He makes a quick motion around the dining room table, and I counter by shooting to the other side.<br />
<br />
"I'm not going to chase you, Sugar," he says calmly.<br />
<br />
"HA!" I point that shaky finger at him again. "<em>I'll</em> tell you what you're not going to do. You're not going to get me to hand you my butt on a silver platter. You want it so bad, you're going to have to work for it."<br />
<br />
I'm scared, because I know that once he catches me it's going to hurt. I'm excited and I'm hyper because my blood is racing through my veins. I'm laughing, animated, thrilled, aroused... nervous. I gave him a challenge that he'd never be able to turn down. There was no way out now, and the more I elude him, the worse it was going to be for me in the end. But dammit, the least I can do is make him put some effort into it. <br />
<br />
He lunges at me again, and I scurry around the marble island that separates the kitchen from the living room. To my surprise he keeps moving, and I skillfully dashed to the other side. He stops and attempts a fake out by changing directions... and I brilliantly anticipate his every move. I'm faster than him, more agile, better reflexes. He doesn't have a chance... until he decides to use his head instead of his feet. There's a small space between the kitchen island and the living room couch, and I have to go through it to circle the island again. He walks over to the dining room table, grabs a couple of chairs and begins to construct a barricade in that space to impede my escape. I'm trapped.<br />
<br />
My shaky finger juts out again. "NO! NO! that's not fair! You're not playing fair!"<br />
<br />
His voice is eerily calm and scary. "I'm not playing... <em><strong>at all</strong></em>," he says, smiling that creepy smile that is sending an icy chill up my spine. I watch helplessly as he stacks the chairs high, putting the finishing touch on his makeshift enclosure. There's nowhere to go. My heart is pounding through my rib cage as I watch him look back at me with all the charm of Jack Nicholson in the Shining. "You've got one last chance to come to me... and maybe I'll take it easy on you," he says. I think for a moment as my eyes jet around the room assessing the situation.<br />
<br />
"Well?"<br />
<br />
Again I defiantly lock my eyes with his. The words come out of my mouth sounding to me like a distorted recording running on slow speed. "<em><strong>Bite me</strong></em>!" I say.<br />
<br />
A broad grin engulfs his face as though he were hoping I'd say that. He suddenly dashes around the island... and I, in a mad and brilliant move go for the gold as I sprint to the other side, and in a move reminiscent of The great Wilma Rudolph, hurdle over the couch as though I have wings on my back and rockets on my feet. I gracefully land on the other side and disappear down the hall and into the bathroom where I lock myself in..<br />
<br />
As I lean against the towel bar to calm my breathing, I can hear BabyMan laughing uproariously on the other side of the door. "THAT WAS BEAUTIFUL!" he howls with delight.<br />
<br />
I begin to giggle uncontrollably as I listen to him describe in admiration my ballet like leap over the furniture to a well earned freedom. I open the door, and we laugh together for almost a full minute as our knees buckle and we sink to the floor in convulsive hysteria.<br />
<br />
After a while I notice that I'm the only one laughing. I feel a strong hand clamp down on my wrist like a steel handcuff and lift me to my feet. "GOTCHA!" I'm dragged unceremoniously back into the living room where I an up ended over the back of the couch, fingers slip inside my waistband and pull my shorts and panties down around my knees. <br />
<br />
"NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!!!"<br />
<br />
"Your soul may belong to Jesus, but your behind is mine!" he says joyfully as he wraps his arm around the small of my back. The first smack of the bath brush is horrendous! My screaming, wiggling and kicking are ignored as the wood smacks at my flesh over and over again. I hear him chuckling as he burns my behind with unbridled enthusiasm.<br />
<br />
"You bastard!" I blurt out as I attempt to cover my behind with my hands.<br />
<br />
"I'm sorry, what did you just call me?" WHACK, WHACK,WHACK...<br />
<br />
<em>What am I doing? think fast!</em> "I said, bahstid. It's an Armenian word. it means loved one!"<br />
<br />
"Liar!" WHACK, WHACK, WHACK...<br />
<br />
"This hurts!" I squeal as I feel tears gather at the corners of my eyes.<br />
<br />
"Good. It's supposed to hurt."<br />
<br />
I hate it when he says that! My butt is on fire, the begging and pleading isn't working, so I have to start negotiations. "What do you want? I'll give you anything you want if you'll just stop!"<br />
<br />
"Really?" he says as the paddling stops to hear my offer. "What'dya got?"<br />
<br />
"WHAT DO YOU WANT?"<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHwt1Ubp2YE0NXS7y7IqYk9quQ20gDaT0Ov1EyNsfUzohEx1KUJrTDzijSVQn96vP6jqz3oUpJkng0mNGCEbfvvBNeSpSOiBLB9uzlgJku1vWoKfL5A0EgKhesxAI9FK23-JSJVwsLuuRJ/s1600/kissing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHwt1Ubp2YE0NXS7y7IqYk9quQ20gDaT0Ov1EyNsfUzohEx1KUJrTDzijSVQn96vP6jqz3oUpJkng0mNGCEbfvvBNeSpSOiBLB9uzlgJku1vWoKfL5A0EgKhesxAI9FK23-JSJVwsLuuRJ/s320/kissing.jpg" width="188" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">BabyMan steps back admiring his handy work for a moment and then... "Go get in bed and wait for me."</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>I slowly stand up and reach down for my pants.<br />
<br />
"Leave the pants where they are," he says.<br />
<br />
I wipe the moisture from my eyes and start to move as dignified as possible toward the bedroom with my pants and panties at my knees . I turn my head to find him with that stupid grin on his face watching my exposed buttocks waddle away . "I hate you, you know," I whisper as I try desperately to keep a serious face.<br />
<br />
"I know baby," he answers. "But before the day is out... you'll love me again."<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>SugarAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00628576666136112710noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552524845951276211.post-60269891396718643582010-08-23T21:16:00.000-05:002010-08-23T21:16:36.670-05:00Remotely Bratting<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit2L7rIGnMJWUZ2hAc0ixiw3QJ1TtlP77v5S2hXA-NfqFEFHdA0s7Ap2TXcJAdZm17Pg0hyK1g0bT7TDVgFngmIRVWCxtsPeAAKIBI-5BvVMqlxOM4rKexzxO7WlMQxAV66kuAP60NslWg/s1600/tv+remote.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit2L7rIGnMJWUZ2hAc0ixiw3QJ1TtlP77v5S2hXA-NfqFEFHdA0s7Ap2TXcJAdZm17Pg0hyK1g0bT7TDVgFngmIRVWCxtsPeAAKIBI-5BvVMqlxOM4rKexzxO7WlMQxAV66kuAP60NslWg/s200/tv+remote.bmp" width="176" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I knew it was coming. I saw it a mile away, and I made absolutely no provisions to prevent it from happening. It was simply part of our lives. I repeated the same infraction over and over again, and he'd grumble. In my defense, He never actually came right out and told me I had to stop it. He held it in and suffered in silence hoping against hope that I would see how much it drove him crazy. The signals were all there, plain as day, and I felt a twinge of guilt every time I repeated the offense. But... what am I, a mind reader?</div><br />
We have three televisions. One in the living room, one in the den, and one in the bedroom. Each have their own cable box, and each cable box has it's own remote. All three remotes look exactly alike except for the little marker that BabyMan placed on each to indicate which TV they belong to.<br />
<br />
Here's where I have been systematically driving my husband insane. I hate locating them when I need them. For instance when I come to bed, BabyMan's already got the TV on and is snoring away. I can't turn on the light and disturb my sleeping husband to begin searching for the remote, so I do the sensible and thoughtful thing. I go to the living room and take the remote from there and use it to change the channel in the bedroom. I don't think about it again until BabyMan comes home from work the next day and heads for the living room TV for a little R&R. Of course the living room remote is nowhere to be found. I never put it back for the same reason I stole it from the living room in the first place. I'm lazy. And I just didn't think about it.<br />
<br />
Often in the evenings while I'm cooking dinner, he starts to methodically search the living room. picking up sofa cushions, looking under the love seat, eyeballing the kitchen counter, checking the window sill. It'll take me a moment to realize what he's doing and I'll drop everything and run into the bedroom. And there on my side of the bed on the floor is a remote... which one, I'm not sure. I'll grab it and run back to the living room and hand it to him with a bit of a sheepish smile. He'll grumble and glare at me while I meekly go back to my cooking.<br />
<br />
"It's the wrong one," he'll suddenly say<br />
<br />
"What?"<br />
<br />
"It's the wrong remote."<br />
<br />
"What difference does it make? It controls the cable box."<br />
<br />
"It doesn't turn the TV on or control the volume."<br />
<br />
I'll slam down the knife I'm cutting tomatoes with, stomp over to the TV and turn it on manually. "How difficult is that?"<br />
<br />
"I'm not going to get up every time I have to change the volume"<br />
<br />
"You're spoiled! Are you familiar with the term Ugly American?"<br />
<br />
"FIND THE RIGHT REMOTE!"<br />
<br />
I'll turn on my heel and stomp into the bedroom and search violently for the one that belongs in the living room. It usually takes me a while to find it in under the covers of my made bed or maybe on top of the TV or sometimes even in the top drawer of my dresser. <br />
<br />
We've played this particular scene a hundred thousand times in the last 7 years or so. We know the steps and our lines by heart, and there's even something a bit comforting in the mundane routine of it all...at least for me. For BabyMan there's just that vein that pops out on his neck a little further every time we run through this act.<br />
<br />
Some people would say that my total disregard for his desire to have the correct remote on hand without an argument is a clear case of bratting. I don't think it's bratting. I think I'm just... lazy. don't get me wrong, there are things in life for which I am more than willing to go out of my way, go the extra mile, push my energy to the limit... but matching the remotes with the right TV is not one of them.<br />
<br />
So Tuesday evening, I get on my laptop in the living room for my usual chat room appointment with the girls. Only Kady and Alex are there waiting for the rest to arrive, we said our hellos and joked around a bit. Then, from the bowels of our unit I hear a bellowing "SUGARANNE!"<br />
<br />
I didn't like the sound of that. I called back sweetly, "Yeah, Baby?"<br />
<br />
"COME HERE! NOW!"<br />
<br />
Now he knows Tuesday night is an important chat night for me, and for him to drag me away...<br />
<br />
I typed: <strong> <span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Uh oh. BRB</span>.</strong><br />
<br />
before I got the laptop off my lap, I caught a glimps of Alex typing: <span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>That doesn't sound so good.</strong></span><br />
<br />
I got off the couch and walked into the den. There BabyMan stood with the paddle in his hand. "Where is it?" he demanded.<br />
<br />
"Where's what, Baby?" I asked as I kept my eye on the paddle .<br />
<br />
"The remote for the den. Where is it?"<br />
<br />
"I... don't know."<br />
<br />
"FIND IT. NOW!"<br />
<br />
He had clearly reached his limit. He wasn't angry, he was just determined to put a stop to this today. I backed out of the room and ran into the bedroom. I rolled around on the bed hoping to find it under the covers as I so often do. Not there. I looked on the floor, under the bed, on the dressers, in the master bathroom, in the hamper... it was nowhere. I went back to the den. "Baby, I don't see it."<br />
<br />
"FIND IT!"<br />
<br />
I wanted to get back to my friends, but this wouldn't be a wise time to argue. <em>What did I do with it? YES! The living room!</em> I ran back to the living room and began searching through the usual places. The coffee table, the cushions, the kitchen island counter... FOUND IT! I ran back to the den and carefully presented it to him as though it were the keys to the kingdom. When I turned to leave (did I really think I could leave?) I heard him say "Just a minute, come back here."<br />
<br />
I turned back and looked at him like a puppy that just peed on the carpet. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_44SQStcwnl8H6rnz82EThBGI0ZEL2LUafX0dYgp6-I7v55suNJ5Ujow2jLgyLMKT9utrsRsbBXinkzgm_ejNlXXqZhIqHozbhpWJCCOLMZSe4IF95JVhJC5FQ5R-CInC-1xAqv2FOqIy/s1600/arm+of+couch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_44SQStcwnl8H6rnz82EThBGI0ZEL2LUafX0dYgp6-I7v55suNJ5Ujow2jLgyLMKT9utrsRsbBXinkzgm_ejNlXXqZhIqHozbhpWJCCOLMZSe4IF95JVhJC5FQ5R-CInC-1xAqv2FOqIy/s320/arm+of+couch.jpg" /></a></div>"Drop your pants and bend over the arm of the couch." <br />
<br />
Like I said, I knew it was coming. Over the past several years I had watched his frustration grow and I did nothing to stop it. I didn't argue. I couldn't. I did look at him pleadingly for a moment until I realized he would not be dissuaded. I pulled down my shorts and bent over until my hands were on the couch cushion.<br />
<br />
"The bedroom remote..." WHAP! "stays in the bedroom!" Whap! "The Living room remote..." Whap! "stays in the living room!" WHAP "And the den remote..." WHAP "stays where?"<br />
<br />
"In the den!" I squealed out.<br />
<br />
He placed the paddle on the arm of the couch and said "Put that where it belongs."<br />
<br />
I picked up the paddle and placed it on the wall in the bedroom and headed back to my laptop. The girls had probably suspected what happened, it wasn't the first time I had been dragged away from chat to be spanked. I immediately confessed what happened and they LOLed and teased me until I was laughing.<br />
<br />
I actually had done pretty well for the last week as far as keeping the remotes where they belong. If I grab one from another room, I'm careful to replace it as soon as possible. But oddly enough, while I've been sitting her writing this post I heard an all too familiar bellow from the livingroom.<br />
<br />
"SUGARANNE... WHERE"S THE REMOTE?"SugarAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00628576666136112710noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552524845951276211.post-56066272246574353162010-08-12T10:41:00.000-05:002010-08-12T10:41:12.510-05:00Lifeline (part 2)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEozQ6zfgodYQRYd_AJiN4LOSTxfqeiCT0Pw4zZCl4pf1HFD8NhpwmFs0kYdl2VdMtdwlOkIFCWWayDIF3i9qByRfzNRmtpBiBdtbGOokB7yBa53PSRD-vXGvs7gbVimcmB7Y-jalIkbKU/s1600/end+result.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEozQ6zfgodYQRYd_AJiN4LOSTxfqeiCT0Pw4zZCl4pf1HFD8NhpwmFs0kYdl2VdMtdwlOkIFCWWayDIF3i9qByRfzNRmtpBiBdtbGOokB7yBa53PSRD-vXGvs7gbVimcmB7Y-jalIkbKU/s320/end+result.jpg" /></a></div>So, I’ve got a spanking coming tonight, and my computer has been removed in order to give me a new perspective on the fine art of prioritizing my time and due diligence.<br />
<br />
Without my laptop with which to waste the day away, BabyMan figured I have more time to take care of some things around the house that needed my attention. He had just been laughing with me a minute ago, and now his demeanor had turned to soberly stern and authoritarian. He took me by the hand and walked me to the front room where he pointed out the cooler we use to transport food and beverages to the church every Sunday. It was to be cleaned out, washed and air dried. The refrigerator was to have old jars and bottles disposed of, the floor was to be mopped and shined… I couldn’t believe how much he was piling on me. How much was he going to punish me? I get the message already! I lost my computer, I’m submitting to a spanking, and now I have to work like a mule? I heard myself starting to whine until I caught a threatening glance from him warning me that things could and would get worse if I didn’t take all this with a certain degree of cheerfulness. I shut up and I forced myself to smile.<br />
<br />
The last instruction was the most important. I usually find that whatever I can or cannot accomplish during the day, this is the one that takes top billing:<br />
<br />
“I want you to girl up. When I walk in that door, you’re to be in a skirt.”<br />
<br />
I nodded.<br />
<br />
We’re going to see <em>The Other Guys</em> tonight.”<br />
<br />
I pouted again. “I don’t want to see that movie, it sounds stupid.”<br />
<br />
“That’s okay,<em> I</em> want to see it, and you’re going to accompany me. Do you understand?”<br />
<br />
I nodded again. This was clearly one of those <a href="http://serenesubmission.blogspot.com/2010/08/yes-sir.html?zx=288cf1155356be71">“Yes Sir”</a> moments that Serenity posted about recently, but I couldn’t say the words. I was angry, I felt helpless and pushed around. Submission and obedience don’t come easy for me, especially when the voices of the feminists who influenced me in the 70’s keep screaming in my ear.<br />
<br />
There’s something surreal about being told that you have a spanking coming at the end of the day, and having to wait for it. It’s a mind game that BabyMan plays with me every so often. Usually he likes to deal with disobedience and infractions immediately, and the advantage to that is that we get it over with and on with our lives with minimal drama. The disadvantage of it is that I don’t have any time to devise an escape. There’s a loophole to every situation, a crawlspace through the guilt and deservedness into the light of mercy. And if he gives me a few moments, I can always find an angle in which to take my best shot.<br />
<br />
But he knows me now. He’s seen my <a href="http://lovingsugaranne.blogspot.com/2010/06/flip-technique.html">flip technique</a> as he calls it, he can assess the sincerity of my tears, he can accurately evaluate any doubletalk that I give him, and he knows a good ruse when he sees one. I have played all my cards, many of them quite successfully, others… not so much. So now BabyMan can safely allow me to stew in my own juices for a few hours without fear of being trumped in the process.<br />
<br />
So I wait. This doesn’t mean I don’t make a decent effort to lessen the punishment. I’m thoughtful, considerate. I call him while in the grocery store (Honey, would you like rib eye, or London broil?). <br />
<br />
But the day didn’t go well. There were people on the internet looking for me, and I wasn’t there to respond. Plus I had to think about how my behind was going to survive a spanking with God knows what horrible implement he decides to use, so there was a bit of irritability to my disposition all day. And in the end I did not get everything done that I was charged to do that day. My mother had called and asked me to help her with some equipment she didn’t understand. My workout at the gym was especially rigorous as I worked through some of my frustration from the morning, and my shopping put some strain on my hips. I instant message BabyMan from the PC, and begged him for compassion and clemency. He understood, and once again pardoned my lack of prioritizing skills.<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr8hPplM_bQLvu-E78zEFO52jj2sKxV6cljoZOHoNjYi1v6cIfcI3Am_GGKmhg-nrCS1AKmyWOIFeMT-oC9yNBp1Nu40kodC2ERSdemfsPtOHN2LPeteRnWnyIwlIAASouNr7LvImwYdbX/s1600/weapon+of+ass+destruction.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr8hPplM_bQLvu-E78zEFO52jj2sKxV6cljoZOHoNjYi1v6cIfcI3Am_GGKmhg-nrCS1AKmyWOIFeMT-oC9yNBp1Nu40kodC2ERSdemfsPtOHN2LPeteRnWnyIwlIAASouNr7LvImwYdbX/s200/weapon+of+ass+destruction.jpg" width="79" /></a>Upon his arrival, I was girled up as promised. My hair was done, a little make up accentuated my eyes, and a short skirt covered my soon to be stinging ass. He put down his briefcase, kissed me on the lips, and went straight to the bedroom to get… the paddle!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Yeah! The paddle! I had never been so glad to see an old friend before. It wasn’t Epiphany, or that nasty bath brush!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">He went to the den and put the pillows on the floor between his legs like he’s grown fond of doing. “Let’s go,” he said. I peeled my panties down, kneeled before him, and he pushed me over his left knee without the usual eyeball to eyeball lecture. He ceremoniously lifted my skirt, and I braced myself as I felt him tighten his grip around my waist. I heard him talking loud and clear over the sound of the paddle slapping my exposed behind.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh3kJKwNuizbp8g4GpgRrB83SxnGFF_cSSXyttqMNFI9gQJKP_PlgdotI51o3oH9G8XwUb1EiecovDBx0gJTb_0r8TlY8N2n6PMVfBmmNkA64HU79pW3wvK54XsmySAIfImhKDCM_rn7FR/s1600/over+one+knee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh3kJKwNuizbp8g4GpgRrB83SxnGFF_cSSXyttqMNFI9gQJKP_PlgdotI51o3oH9G8XwUb1EiecovDBx0gJTb_0r8TlY8N2n6PMVfBmmNkA64HU79pW3wvK54XsmySAIfImhKDCM_rn7FR/s200/over+one+knee.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>“You <em>will </em>have a chat curfew and you will abide by it.” WHAP! “When I tell you to get off the computer, you <em>will </em>do it immediately." WHAP! “You <em>will </em>show me the respect I deserve” WHAP! “You<em> will</em> drop everything when I walk in that door at 5:00 every day” WHAP! “You <em>will</em> put your husband and your home first” WHAP!<br />
<br />
There was more, but I think I was screaming the word YES over and over again so loud that I probably didn’t hear it. The comfort of that old leather paddle became not so comfortable anymore as he put the crowning touch on the spanking with a long stream of quick, stinging slaps to my sit spot.<br />
<br />
When he let me up, I went to the bedroom to lie down on my stomach for a few moments like I usually do after a spanking. He came in after me about five minutes later and lied down next to me and put a soothing hand on my red behind. <br />
<br />
“We’re leaving in ten minutes for the movie. Oh, and I put your boyfriend in the livingroom,” he said.<br />
<br />
“My boyfriend?”<br />
<br />
“Your laptop. You can have him back.”SugarAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00628576666136112710noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552524845951276211.post-76787905747014598602010-08-11T00:00:00.002-05:002010-08-11T08:10:36.804-05:00Cutting off the Lifeline<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqjCHzh6EbMGaStXeLvHwPkLYKjlSckEdi4ZCNxCjfPWeK_xtm8cUwDDTLovKVKagfQWnr5Yvd5daKLZ2NphEaQdYWyYL_0_7CAiNEgxLRN1DBsJxmHPRXuDK9NpagYGQPDnRc5WAntBkG/s1600/laundry.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" mx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqjCHzh6EbMGaStXeLvHwPkLYKjlSckEdi4ZCNxCjfPWeK_xtm8cUwDDTLovKVKagfQWnr5Yvd5daKLZ2NphEaQdYWyYL_0_7CAiNEgxLRN1DBsJxmHPRXuDK9NpagYGQPDnRc5WAntBkG/s200/laundry.bmp" width="130" /></a></div>He was banging around the bedroom this morning, opening and slamming drawers, flinging open his squeaky closet doors. I opened one eye to catch a glimpse of him spinning in his own frustration. I wasn't quite awake, but somehow the events of last night came flooding back to me, and I knew, in my lethargic early morning haze, exactly what was bothering him. I opened the other eye and sat up. "They're not here," I said sheepishly. <br />
<br />
He stopped and turned to me, saying nothing, waiting for the explanation.<br />
<br />
"Your workout clothes," I said. "They're downstairs in the dryer."<br />
<br />
He nodded his head to signal that he understood, and headed for the door.<br />
<br />
"Wait," I suddenly sounded a bit panicked. "Scratch that..."<br />
<br />
He again looked to me for vital information, eyebrows lifted, eyes probing.<br />
<br />
"They're not in the dryer. They're still in the washer."<br />
<br />
"I see," he said in that way that indicates a storm cloud ahead. He walked back to his bureau and extracted a muscle shirt that he does not like to wear, but reserves for just such a laundry emergency. I watched him dress, clutching the sheet to my chest as I kept my head perfectly still and followed his sharp, disturbed movements throughout the room.<br />
<br />
He finally kissed me goodbye, and took off for the gym. Upon hearing the door slam, I jumped out of bed, threw on a long nightshirt, grabbed a fabric softener sheet and five quarters, and padded down the stairs in my bare feet to the building's laundry room. I chided myself as I furiously tossed the laundry from the washer to a dryer, suddenly coming to the conclusion that I was wasting my time and energy. He's already on his way to the gym, and I already blew it.<br />
<br />
Not having his laundry ready for him when he needed it was not really such a big deal. What was burning his ass (and ultimately mine) was the reason I didn't get the task done. We both knew. And I was going to eventually have to face the consequences. I started the dryer, lumbered back up the stairs and got back in bed. It was going to be a long day.<br />
<br />
About an hour later I rose and began making the bed when I heard BabyMan's key in the door. I always jump a little when I hear that key and I know that I'm going to have to find a way to explain myself. I had no excuse, just an unacceptable explanation. But at that moment, an idea popped into my head.<br />
<br />
"Hi, Baby!" I said cheerfully. This was going to be a stretch.<br />
<br />
"Hello," he smiled.<br />
<br />
"How much time have you got before you have to shower?" I sidled up to him and wrapped my arms around his waist and smacked him on his bearded jaw.<br />
<br />
"A little, Why?"<br />
<br />
"Well..." I motioned my head toward the half made bed and wiggled my eyebrows in that seductive manner that he's so familiar with. "I thought we might... you know..."<br />
<br />
He grabbed me by the shoulders and gently pushed me off of him, still smiling. "Why? <a href="http://lovingsugaranne.blogspot.com/2010/08/tempted-by-fruit-of-her-royal-sweetness.html">You trying to bribe me?"</a><br />
<br />
"Bribe? What are you talking about?" I said in my most innocent tone. I think I managed to register a genuine hurt look in my eyes.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx3N3Tcqfjjrj8RMn47iXNTHzn72r7jNqsuAz9G7fwQ-Sw7cCR47fmwAcSSd5sybLsVWlqQ2eJY6qJSLrc9xYKBB0ECte8_zgooADrRN47Gy0-URmtxkfTKdbRafOktchh3H31W7nP0zFY/s1600/leash.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" mx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx3N3Tcqfjjrj8RMn47iXNTHzn72r7jNqsuAz9G7fwQ-Sw7cCR47fmwAcSSd5sybLsVWlqQ2eJY6qJSLrc9xYKBB0ECte8_zgooADrRN47Gy0-URmtxkfTKdbRafOktchh3H31W7nP0zFY/s200/leash.bmp" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">"You know what I'm talking about," he said as he lifted that undesirable muscle shirt over his head and tossed it on the ground. He walked over to his closet where, for the last month, he had been hanging a yet to be used implement on the door knob. It was a thick, nylon dog leash that he had found on the beach and had been playfully (and not so playfully) threatening me with for weeks. I had been so sure he'd never use it. He knew how terrified I was of that thing, and the application of it would be so much more sever than any infraction I could possibly dream of. He called his new toy "Epiphany," and had promised to use it in the event that I climbed back on the nicotine train. Epiphany's presence on that doorknob had kept me in check for weeks, but now I nervously watched him reach for it and yank it tight between his fists causing a loud snapping sound. I winced. <em>He wouldn't! He just wouldn't!</em> I sat down on the bed, praying that that wouldn't be the last time I sat down anywhere.</div><br />
"I told you I needed my gym clothes this morning, and you dropped the ball. Can you tell me why?"<br />
<br />
I swallowed hard as I followed Epiphany's movement from one hand to the other. "I... I got... I got a little busy." I choked out.<br />
<br />
"Busy doing what?"<br />
<br />
"I was... chatting."<br />
<br />
"Yes, you were. This chatting thing is getting out of hand. Don't you agree?"<br />
<br />
"No, not real..." I jumped as he gave Epiphany another loud snap. "Yes, completely out of hand!"<br />
<em>Oh God, Oh God, Oh God!</em> My eyes traveled up to BabyMan's face, and I caught a good humored twinkle in his eye. He smiled again and turned back to the closet door and placed Epiphany back in her rightful spot. Suddenly I could breath. I watched him walk over to my dresser and pick up the other implement of doom, the bath brush. "You've been neglecting me, and your responsibilities around here. You've been spending way too much time on your laptop, chatting til all hours of the night, and not enough time on me and our home, wouldn't you say?"<br />
<br />
"Yes," my voice cracked.<br />
<br />
"I think I need to give you a little reminder of your priorities and what's really important."<br />
<br />
"No, that won't be necessary. I'll remember." Our eyes met and locked in a staring contest. I lost as I dropped my eyes to the floor. I heard him place the bath brush back on the dresser.<br />
<br />
"Go pack up your laptop. I'm taking it with me today."<br />
<br />
my head snapped back up. "You're <em>what</em>?"<br />
<br />
"I think you need to be without it for a while. And I've got a list of things you need to take care of, so let's get going... Now."<br />
<br />
"You can' take my computer away!" I whined like a spoiled teenager.<br />
<br />
BabyMan laughed. "Would you look at yourself? You're absolutely panicked. You will survive without it. It won't kill you, and..."<br />
<br />
At that moment his phone made the sound of an email alert. He perked his head up in mid sentence and trotted over to his bureau where he picked it up and squinted into its screen.<br />
<br />
"A comment to your last post?" I queried.<br />
<br />
"Yeah," he smiled.<br />
<br />
"Look at you!" I jabbed a finger in his direction. "You're freakin' Pavlov's dog! You're just as sick as I am!"<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizzH-QAPsmkm1-nm3JO5V9L4tDLvgYK6t6Yi0Bk-i6UyydGQcQiGSObIB1e62PaET6ejn0z7pfenLsRIZmq7kPaZduVHiJwga0FCQL6vmNPiH5yvJJFUI0GyYlFAP-ajvp9TPK-fwptE09/s1600/laughing+couple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="146" mx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizzH-QAPsmkm1-nm3JO5V9L4tDLvgYK6t6Yi0Bk-i6UyydGQcQiGSObIB1e62PaET6ejn0z7pfenLsRIZmq7kPaZduVHiJwga0FCQL6vmNPiH5yvJJFUI0GyYlFAP-ajvp9TPK-fwptE09/s200/laughing+couple.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">With that, BabyMan threw his head back and laughed so hard that he was in danger of losing his balance. I giggled with him as we shared the ridiculousness of out plight. Two victims of the new millennium, caught in the throws of the computer age... loving it, hating it, addicted to it like a futuristic drug from the mind of Alvin Toffler. Our amusement and cackling lasted several minutes before it eventually died down and BabyMan sat down next to me in exhaustion. He put his arms around me and kissed me hard on the lips. "I love you, Sugar," he said. "and I think taking your computer with me is the right thing to do. You need to gain a new perspective on this."</div><br />
Suddenly I wasn't laughing anymore. I could feel the lines in my face turn to a full fledged pout.<br />
<br />
"And when I come home tonight, I'm going to take you to a movie... but before we leave for the show, I'm going to give you a spanking."<br />
<br />
<em><strong>To be continued...</strong></em>SugarAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00628576666136112710noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552524845951276211.post-7949095713955938102010-08-07T14:52:00.001-05:002010-09-07T18:16:29.070-05:00Standing Long for Long Standing Issues<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9PHVQSLMX8bmf_98vWWSHkZvyrAR4Mus3b4VI_ZJKwPmiGeeGEtIm7n1TLceH40Qhm6t_sNvMgQnwIet5YU0n0jy8X1VT9hkeILFV8M3p9xZftsdlGojeuokcj7FFTeqOhEaNAm-8F58o/s1600/addicted.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9PHVQSLMX8bmf_98vWWSHkZvyrAR4Mus3b4VI_ZJKwPmiGeeGEtIm7n1TLceH40Qhm6t_sNvMgQnwIet5YU0n0jy8X1VT9hkeILFV8M3p9xZftsdlGojeuokcj7FFTeqOhEaNAm-8F58o/s320/addicted.bmp" width="220" /></a></div>It's been an issue in our marriage for years. It happened way too often that BabyMan would look for attention from his wife, only to have her find someone or something else more pressing at the time. My logic was always that we have a life with thousands of hours of alone time together, and my priorities have to be carefully selected so as not to miss out on anything that may not be available later. I remember we argued about this while we were dating, and it continued on throughout our ten years of marriage. It was NEVER my intention to make him think that he wasn't important, and I thought he's come to understand that and find some peace with it.<br />
<br />
Lately I've started to engage in live chat with my internet friends, a pastime that has fascinated me since I discovered forum chatrooms and Yahoo Messenger. In the last 3 months or so, I've become embroiled in conversing with other dd wives as we discuss our husbands, lives, punishment, sex, health... they are relationships that I have come to cherish and look forward to cultivating. Since I've begun my new found hobby, BabyMan has come home many times when I was in the middle of a chat looking for my attention, and I have given him less than my best. I have gently pushed him aside and promised attentiveness when I was through. Quite often he would back off, adjourn to another room and wait until it was convenient for me to give him my consideration.<br />
<br />
And sometimes he would march back into my space, angry and irritated.<br />
<br />
"You need to get off the computer now, and pay attention to your husband!"<br />
<br />
I'd look up at him, flustered and irritated. "Will you relax? I'm in the middle of a conversation! It's unreasonable of you to demand that I stop in the middle and..."<br />
<br />
"Now, Sugar. Right now!"<br />
<br />
"How can you expect me to extricate myself from a conversation with no warning?"<br />
<br />
"I walked through that door ten minutes ago. I think in ten minutes time you can find a way to let someone know that I'm here, and you have other priorities."<br />
<br />
So I will take a minute or so to excuse myself from my chat, and practically slam my laptop closed and glare at him with my <em>I hope you're happy</em> attitude, and he'd glare right back at me daring me to say something cocky or impudent.<br />
<br />
Needless to say, anything that he had been looking forward to sharing with me was off the table. He's hurt, irritated, and no longer interested in engaging me in our usual evening connecting rituals. As far as he's concerned, I had made it clear that he comes second.. He begins to threaten to restrict my use of the computer, especially my laptop because it's starting to take the place of our time together, and I have to begin to take this problem more seriously. I always promise that I will, and BabyMan would be quick to forgive.. until the next time.<br />
<br />
Enter, my friend, K., a woman I had been cultivating a relationship with through a forum, and then through Yahoo Messenger. Thursday evening we were discussing the possibility of actually getting to meet each other face to face when BabyMan came home. I recall typing furiously and waving briefly at him. He leaned over me and puckered his lips. I put my hand up. "Not now, Babe," I said as I refused to take my eyes off the screen.<br />
<br />
"No!' he demanded,"You stop typing right now!"<br />
<br />
"Wait, I just have to finish this thought..."<br />
<br />
"No, NOW!"<br />
<br />
I looked at him and noted the determined look in his eye. "Kiss me, dammit," he barked.<br />
<br />
"Okay, okay, Just let me tell her I'll be back"<br />
<br />
"No!" he was clearly fed up. I took my fingers off the keyboard and craned my neck to meet his lips. He kissed me hard, almost angrily and then walked out of the room muttering, "You've got your nose in that laptop too damned much. You need to get your priorities straight, Woman!"<br />
I went back to my conversation with K. almost 30 minutes later I bounded into the den where BabyMan sat at the PC and wrapped my arms affectionately around his neck. "Guess what! K is flying into the city in a few weeks, and we'll all be able to have dinner together down town. Isn't that great?"<br />
<br />
He looked at me soberly and mustered a slight smile for my happiness. "That's great, babe. When is she coming?"<br />
<br />
"Second week in September"<br />
<br />
"That's nice."<br />
<br />
I turned and began dancing out of the den. "Are you hungry? I bought salmon for tonight."<br />
<br />
"No, right now I want you to get the heavy wooden spoon from the kitchen and the bath brush and bring them to me."<br />
<br />
I stopped in my tracks. I couldn't have heard right. I turned abruptly with my mouth open. "What?"<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4gLKkZRU9PZV-XfD9FxgjY0Iz-2ZuZkiApLS1m1dGt4YVmaFoVSGvx9kK1U1HNoz25lVrmr3UdtOUGggx129kyI6nx3h3dVNsEj8-H6E54Tfq0YAsD8IEIeTey1OFvyHmY48zzZ0bP_Bl/s1600/panties+at+ankles.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4gLKkZRU9PZV-XfD9FxgjY0Iz-2ZuZkiApLS1m1dGt4YVmaFoVSGvx9kK1U1HNoz25lVrmr3UdtOUGggx129kyI6nx3h3dVNsEj8-H6E54Tfq0YAsD8IEIeTey1OFvyHmY48zzZ0bP_Bl/s320/panties+at+ankles.bmp" width="213" /></a>"You heard me."</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">"But... what did I do?"</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>"Just bring them, I'll tell you what you did."<br />
<br />
I went into the kitchen and retrieved the wooden spoon he uses for his pet peeve relief. When I walked past the den door on my way to the bedroom to get the bath brush I stopped one more time in search of answers. "Are you gonna tell me what I did?" I said quietly.<br />
<br />
He looked at me and spotted only the spoon in my hand. "Get the brush," he said.<br />
<br />
I didn't like this at all. I wasn't even going to get a warm up from the old comfortable leather paddle, just a lot of uncomfortable wood. I consider wooden implements unreasonable, too painful, and just plain crazy. I returned with the objects to find that he had placed a couple of pillows on the floor.<br />
<br />
"Take your pants and panties down and sit on the floor, he said. He turned back to the computer where he was downloading music into his MP3 player. I did as I was told as I felt my heart beating through my chest. I must have really pissed him off. The waiting was interminable as I sat there with my panties around my ankles and a spoon and brush clutched to my chest.<br />
<br />
Finally he rose from the computer desk and came over to the couch and sat down with me between his legs. "Turn around and face me on your knees," he said.<br />
<br />
I did.<br />
<br />
"Do you have any idea why you're being punished?"<br />
<br />
I knew. I just didn't want to say it.<br />
<br />
"Take a wild guess," he whispered.<br />
<br />
I couldn't look at him. "I... ignored you when you came home?"<br />
<br />
"Talking to K was a little more important to you than I was, right?"<br />
<br />
"No! No one's more important than you!"<br />
<br />
"You have the rest of August, and part of September to finalize your plans with her, but you had to do it during our time together. And I'm brushed aside when I need you. Do you have any idea how often you do this?"<br />
<br />
<em>Really? it can't be that often... can it?</em><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-lNMn52zAKhiFLO2xdrJUZp_ggNv6tAOY_j_72KtyRyYQw_FIV7onOStXgOl4MjTQ-3zCh4O40b7Kdeml7lL2ITuJq1wl4fu8qoCPJ59bjh_td-7cZQnwvhYrUlJ8hBAUR7tLBp5FNAZ9/s1600/face.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-lNMn52zAKhiFLO2xdrJUZp_ggNv6tAOY_j_72KtyRyYQw_FIV7onOStXgOl4MjTQ-3zCh4O40b7Kdeml7lL2ITuJq1wl4fu8qoCPJ59bjh_td-7cZQnwvhYrUlJ8hBAUR7tLBp5FNAZ9/s200/face.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>"Well, it's going to stop, today. I'm done allowing you to go on thinking this is all right."<br />
<br />
Suddenly I felt awful. I looked right into his eyes and saw the anger that he was feeling, but there was something else... it was hurt. I felt a huge tear form in my eye and spill out onto my cheek.<br />
He gently guided me over his left knee and I felt the hard wood connect with my butt over and over again. I kicked, and tried to raise myself off of his knee, but he held me down and reddened me without taking a moment to break between the spoon and the brush. I couldn't believe how much it hurt, and BabyMan was deaf to my pleading cries. Then... a final assault on my sit spot that made me shriek at the top of my lungs, and it was over.<br />
<br />
When I was sure he was through, I slid off his knee and wound up back on the pillows on the floor. "I'm sorry," I sniveled. I never meant to make you feel like that." Apparently I had been doing this to him for years, and it never occurred to me just how hurtful it was.We had argued about it many times, and I just never took it seriously until now. He had made his point, and this time I heard it. I thought maybe on top of everything he would take away or restrict the use of my laptop, but he didn't. He's leaving it to me to prove that I can keep my word.<br />
<br />
And I'm going to try my best, I really am! But to my friends who I talk to on a regular basis on Yahoo, if I disappear for a while...<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>SugarAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00628576666136112710noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552524845951276211.post-8857600700824972952010-07-31T01:21:00.000-05:002010-07-31T01:21:46.264-05:00Building the Kingdom<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-XWzor_GAoSUGSHbC-7Vg0GbXaeUnkfI6o7s3z-EutkukVFGxnx_p3aj4RrTP3YE3CQ1SDeDFXyNhXWPc35xpEKfiX0mrUl-tsupfHxuvDsUAhKCfnCEVffrGAVPOk-1xRQD7_nQDoG2L/s1600/King+Arthur.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-XWzor_GAoSUGSHbC-7Vg0GbXaeUnkfI6o7s3z-EutkukVFGxnx_p3aj4RrTP3YE3CQ1SDeDFXyNhXWPc35xpEKfiX0mrUl-tsupfHxuvDsUAhKCfnCEVffrGAVPOk-1xRQD7_nQDoG2L/s320/King+Arthur.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>BabyMan has decided that there are certain things that he simply will not tolerate anymore. I'm not talking about the biggies... Disrespect, Disobedience and Dangerous behavior.. I've pretty much managed to think twice before I jump into one of those dark holes. I'm talking about all the little things that, when accumulated equal a spanking of epic proportions. And as it turns out, there are quite a few of them. I'm afraid that over the years I have neglected to take seriously the requests, the demands, the repeated reminders to these pet peeves, and as a result have caused the volcano to begin erupting all over me.<br />
<br />
BabyMan is starting to build his kingdom one brick at a time. The little things that have been getting on his nerves will from now on be dealt with, where before, all he could do was nag. Case in point: A few weeks ago I had, for the millionth time, left the the hall closet door open. The hall is quite narrow, and BabyMan's shoulders are fairly broad. Having to squeeze through the hallway without banging himself against the closet door was a skill that he's had to acquire since his constant demands for my cooperation in this area had been going virtually ignored.<br />
<br />
"SugarAnne, come here."<br />
<br />
I know that tone of voice. He's not angry. Irritated is more accurate.<br />
<br />
I rise from my seat in the living room and walk to the hall.<br />
<br />
"You see this?" he asks.<br />
<br />
"What?" I don't see anything out of the ordinary. Just BabyMan standing in the hall with his hands on his hips.<br />
<br />
"This door. Why is it so hard for you to close it?"<br />
<br />
I don't know how to answer that. <em>It's not hard... I just don't do it. What's the big deal, anyway?</em><br />
<br />
"Okay," he goes on. "You hear this sound?" He closes the door, and a loud squeak from the WD-40 starved hinges reverberates throughout the unit. "That's the sound of a spanking," he said.<br />
<br />
"What?"<br />
<br />
"Every time you hear that sound, that means I had to close the door after you left it open. You don't want to hear that sound, believe me."<br />
<br />
I think my jaw dropped open. and the corners of my mouth went up. He had to be joking. "You're not serious," I said. "It's a DOOR! It's so not a big deal. You can close it yourself in a fraction of a second!"<br />
<br />
"If it's so easy to close, then why don't you do it yourself instead of making me do it?"<br />
<br />
Now, logic is usually on my side when BabyMan and I have minor disagreements, but on those rare occasions when he actually has a good point, It really pisses me off. I wanted to argue... but I didn't have a leg to stand on. "Fine. Whatever." I said begrudgingly.<br />
<br />
"Excuse me?" he said. Time seems to stop when he wants to know if I have the nerve to repeat myself after I've said something clearly a little too flippant and smart alecky for the situation. He stares at me, piercing eyes boring into my lioness of an attitude, reducing it to a timid kitten. <br />
<br />
"I mean..." Damn, I hate when he intimidates me with just a look. "I mean ... okay, I'll try."<br />
<br />
"There's more," he said. He walked into the bedroom and took down the leather paddle from the hook by the door and returned to the hallway, grabbed me by the hand and dragged me into the kitchen. "I want you to take a look at this," he said as he waved the paddle in the air as though he were attempting to clear away the smoke of some annoying brush fire that wouldn't be doused.<br />
<br />
I glanced up, and noticed, probably for the very first time, that every single cabinet was open as well as quite a few drawers. I covered my mouth with my hand to hide my smile. "Oh...," was all I could say.<br />
<br />
"Yeah, OH!" he mocked. "I can't get through the kitchen without having to go through an obstacle course." He wagged the paddle at an open drawer at the entrance of the kitchen. "Do you have any idea how many times I've banged my shins on that thing?"<br />
<br />
I really did try not to laugh, but an unintentional snicker snorted through my nose as I struggled to look away. "I'm sorry," I said pathetically. "That just kind of happens when I cook," I mumbled. <em>When I cook your dinner!</em><br />
<br />
"We've gone over this a million times. Well I'm done. I'm going to stop nagging you."<br />
<br />
<em>Good!</em><br />
<br />
"And I'm going to start spanking you."<br />
<br />
<em>Bad!</em><br />
<br />
I made an excellent effort if I may say so myself. It was actually several days before I lost the first battle.<br />
<br />
"SugarAnne..."<br />
<br />
There was that tone I've grown to know so well.<br />
<br />
I was in the kitchen cooking. "Yeah, Babe," I sang sweetly.<br />
<br />
"What is this sound?" Suddenly I heard the sound of a squeaky door bouncing off the walls of our home. It took me a moment to register... and then I felt my face flush and I bit my lower lip. Damn, I had been so diligent about this thing. I frowned. I didn't even look around the corner at the offending evidence. I just stood there, searching the hard drive in my brain for a way to stave off the impending conviction. There was a way out of this, and I would be remiss in my duties if I didn't at least take my best shot through some ambiguous loophole.<br />
<br />
"I didn't leave that open!" I said. Yes, this was the best I could come up with on the spur of the moment.<br />
<br />
"Well, <em>I</em> didn't do it."<br />
<br />
"How do you know? You could have."<br />
<br />
"I never even open this closet," he said.<br />
<br />
I couldn't argue with that. That closet is filled with laundry supplies and winter coats. It's too hot for a winter coat, and he hasn't done laundry in years. Suddenly I was angry. It occurred to me that the closet door had originally been opened so that I could take out the iron in order to smooth out the wrinkles in his casual day work shirts. I had been working my delicate fingers to the bone for his pleasure, convenience and comfort, only to be ridiculed for my efforts. <br />
"I opened it because I had to IRON YOUR SHIRTS!" I said indignantly.<br />
<br />
He peeked around the corner. "I don't care why you opened it. There's no reason why you can't close it."<br />
<br />
<em>This is so unfair! No good deed goes unpunished?</em><br />
<br />
"Pick a pervertable," he said.<br />
<br />
I refused to cooperate in my own demise. "No!" I snapped. "I want to go on record as saying...This sucks!"<br />
<br />
"Duly noted. Pick a pervertable."<br />
<br />
I stood with my arms crossed and my jaw set, staring... waiting...<br />
<br />
"If I have to pick one for you, you won't like it," he said calmly.<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikq3m-3FIM9sNtbvmmQaCuz_PURyXM82UYbS2A2E65IofRdLntIaUTUV9Ri-HFdLC1YZujc83s68xv6xXq7iP40o6AJfuSuihDO3elFXPewmPvplKznKN43Qoz2Czil0_mh1BeVT2561K3/s1600/wooden+spoon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikq3m-3FIM9sNtbvmmQaCuz_PURyXM82UYbS2A2E65IofRdLntIaUTUV9Ri-HFdLC1YZujc83s68xv6xXq7iP40o6AJfuSuihDO3elFXPewmPvplKznKN43Qoz2Czil0_mh1BeVT2561K3/s320/wooden+spoon.jpg" width="209" /></a>I turned to the crock on the counter, snatched a wooden spoon out of it, and shoved it at him. Then I turned around and dropped my shorts and panties and bent over the marble counter top. "This sucks," I repeated, again for the record.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>I felt the wood make contact with my sit spot, only twice, but it was hard, and loud, and it stung like crazy. These pet peeves of his have become almost an obsession. Well, they feel like an obsession to me because I'm getting whacked for them a little too often these days. These are things that I've made such a habit that stopping suddenly to change horses in mid stream seems almost impossible. Lock the door, Turn the lights out, close the cabinets, close the shades, close out the browser on the computer, turn off the TV when you leave the room, keep laundry off the bed... <br />
<br />
So like I said, the nagging has stopped and the spanking has begun. And His Majesty continues to build his kingdom brick by brick, annoyance by annoyance, whack by whack.SugarAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00628576666136112710noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552524845951276211.post-65599378470380788982010-07-22T23:28:00.001-05:002010-09-07T18:07:54.694-05:00Pillow Talk<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4z9vt8KvQp0qolG-0kDG1_-XU1UHb1YwMiUWxFmpoy6X6D_lhvizm5NJCOfmSv07mXjVsEtnJ_xNod4-GgHlyBPzINHV0vZNTH9F0DWP0cCfk4x1tst3AoPFa7VkNlUpH9VQsDGO4JVwb/s1600/talking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="131" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4z9vt8KvQp0qolG-0kDG1_-XU1UHb1YwMiUWxFmpoy6X6D_lhvizm5NJCOfmSv07mXjVsEtnJ_xNod4-GgHlyBPzINHV0vZNTH9F0DWP0cCfk4x1tst3AoPFa7VkNlUpH9VQsDGO4JVwb/s200/talking.jpg" width="200" /></a>BabyMan and I have a long standing tradition of waking up early and basking in the glow of each other's love and morning breath. We usually take an hour or so to talk, debate, cuddle, laugh, tease, and often just wordlessly make passionate love before he has to get up and hit the showers. This morning started like so many others. I opened my eyes to find BabyMan watching me sleep.</div><br />
"What are you looking at?" I said with mock venom.<br />
<br />
"I'm looking at you."<br />
<br />
"Well knock it off," I closed my eyes as I smile and reach for him.<br />
<br />
BabyMan leaned over and kissed me on the lips and propped his head up on his hands as he rested on his elbow. "I saw your comment on <a href="http://withlove-charlie.blogspot.com/2010/07/but-you-dont-understand.html?zx=135224921727f072">Charlie's post</a>."<br />
<br />
"Which one was that?" I droned sleepily.<br />
<br />
"The one where Tom subjected himself to physical punishment in order to understand what Charlie goes through."<br />
<br />
I smiled. "Oh yeah!" I opened my eyes and perked up. "Cool post, huh?"<br />
<br />
"It was pretty interesting." his eyes reacted to the silly grin plastered on my face. "Oh, I see. I suppose you think I should do the same thing?"<br />
<br />
"I think <em>every</em> HoH should do the same thing," I laughed.<br />
<br />
BabyMan smirked. "I don't think I need to go that far to understand what you're feeling when I spank you."<br />
<br />
"Are you kidding? You have no CLUE what it feels like."<br />
<br />
"Of course I do. I got the belt a few times as a kid."<br />
<br />
"Apparently not enough," I mumbled quietly.<br />
<br />
"Excuse me?"<br />
<br />
"I said... that must have been tough."<br />
<br />
BabyMan's eyes narrowed as he shot suspicious lasers at me. I giggled and slapped his shoulder playfully with the back of my hand.<br />
<br />
"So you think that in order to better understand and empathize with you, I should call <a href="http://www.msrebekahhertz.com/about_me.htm">Ms. Hertz the Disciplinarian</a>, and make an appointment."<br />
<br />
"That's a great idea!"<br />
<br />
"Not gonna happen."<br />
<br />
"I bet it's not even that expensive. I could give you a gift certificate for Christmas."<br />
<br />
He turned and flopped his head back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling.<br />
<br />
"Okay, okay..." I said. "If it's a money issue, I could always do it myself."<br />
<br />
"<em>You... </em>want to spank <em>me</em>?"<br />
<br />
"Like you stole something!" I grinned wickedly.<br />
<br />
"You're out of control, you know that?"<br />
<br />
"No, really! You could bend over the bed and I'll give you a few whacks with the belt. No big deal."<br />
<br />
BabyMan started to laugh.<br />
<br />
"What's so funny?"<br />
<br />
"You are. You're <em>not</em> going to hit me with the belt."<br />
<br />
"The bath brush then."<br />
<br />
"No."<br />
<br />
"The <a href="http://www.cane-iac.com/items/otk~items/handy-detail.htm">Shredder</a>?"<br />
<br />
"Don't be ridiculous."<br />
<br />
"C'mon, Baby, work with me here. I'm trying to bring us closer together." I pounded lightly on his chest with my fist. "Help me... help you. Help me, help you!" I said in my best Jerry Maguire impression.<br />
<br />
"Sweetie, you could never spank me. You wouldn't be able to handle it emotionally."<br />
<br />
I was taken aback. "What's that supposed to mean?"<br />
<br />
"You could never administer a spanking like an HoH. Our job is a lot harder than you can imagine."<br />
<br />
"Really? You wanna test that theory, Einstein?"<br />
<br />
He turned his head and regarded me soberly. "You think all we do is swing an implement? There's so much more that goes into the administering of responsible discipline. Our mindset is constantly focused on the care and considerate execution of striking a fine balance between our love for you, our desire to drive home a point, and our devotion to a healthy measure of correction without causing injury."<br />
<br />
There was an almost awkward considerable silence for a while as the two of us stared at each other, our heads on our pillows, our noses so close they almost touched. He was so sure he had given me something to think about.<br />
<br />
"Okay, I'll use the paddle on you. But that's my final offer," I said.<br />
<br />
"I'm not getting through," he placed a finger on my forehead and pushed my head back.<br />
<br />
"I don't understand why you won't do this for me! Tom did it for Charlie. It's like the ultimate act of devotion."<br />
<br />
"Well aren't you the romantic! You know... other women ask their husband's to discipline <em>them</em>, not the other way around."<br />
<br />
"Oh, and that makes them better than me?"<br />
<br />
"I didn't say that."<br />
<br />
"Do you know what you said the last time you spanked me?"<br />
<br />
"Stop Squirming?"<br />
<br />
"Besides that."<br />
<br />
"No, but I have a feeling you're going to tell me."<br />
<br />
"Take it like a man, you said."<br />
<br />
BabyMan sat up and looked at me for a moment, then threw his head back and laughed hard and long. "Did I really?" he blurted out between guffaws.<br />
<br />
"Yes, you did!" I shouted to be heard over his laughter. "These are the words of a man who is not in touch with his partner," I said punctuating every word as I poked him in the chest with my finger.<br />
<br />
"I'm in touch with you, Baby. Doesn't your butt feel like I touched it afterward?"<br />
<br />
"Very funny," I tried to hide my smile. "You know what I think? I think that there should be a special day every year where HoH's get their butts whooped to give them just a little taste of reality. Kind of like a holiday within the spanko community."<br />
<br />
"That's my baby... always thinking." He leaned over again and kissed me. "I commented to Charlie's post as well," he said as he climbed out of bed.<br />
<br />
"Oh really? What'd you say?"<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">"As far as I'm concerned, Tom took the hit for all us Hoh's. It'll never again be necessary for any of us to experience physical punishment."</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">"How very convenient," I sneered.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoVpNB9uyc_WaShmkFiDxNXIrQuciz27NO78k_18q8Z6gWeNTQLM17T6tcILcJEdfTXqmdi6cTgsAdfDD2iYGJUCI0-qcmANJAYFt8tPKIMdUgqY-34r2UogxQkKZu7lT65PnEvkc4imGI/s1600/roll+eyes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoVpNB9uyc_WaShmkFiDxNXIrQuciz27NO78k_18q8Z6gWeNTQLM17T6tcILcJEdfTXqmdi6cTgsAdfDD2iYGJUCI0-qcmANJAYFt8tPKIMdUgqY-34r2UogxQkKZu7lT65PnEvkc4imGI/s200/roll+eyes.jpg" width="146" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">BabyMan leaned over the bed and planted another kiss on my lips. "But I love the fact that you want to bring us closer together, Sugar. I'll be glad to contribute to the cause."</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">"Yeah? And how's that?" </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">"I'm of the opinion that we become much closer every time I spank <em>you</em>. Don't you agree?"</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>SugarAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00628576666136112710noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552524845951276211.post-15513160434781689212010-07-15T09:40:00.000-05:002010-07-15T10:58:28.822-05:00Phone Calls and Workouts and Lies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkPXFF603RrL4SHMdXDVi0tg6fOu2xQG4OUzhBQiObcBPK4AkRYoRpOQhtMpqh-F-_IQ0TK4HZblIDcyQvTRyuaBPf9SuPpUi1WRaNsJ4WDIYTWT1SBefIa7dAoLznhnvSNNMTTYpk4ua1/s1600/childlike.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="108" rw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkPXFF603RrL4SHMdXDVi0tg6fOu2xQG4OUzhBQiObcBPK4AkRYoRpOQhtMpqh-F-_IQ0TK4HZblIDcyQvTRyuaBPf9SuPpUi1WRaNsJ4WDIYTWT1SBefIa7dAoLznhnvSNNMTTYpk4ua1/s200/childlike.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>I'm a child at heart. I admit it, I embrace it, and I love it. I take pride in the fact that I still laugh out loud at Bugs Bunny cartoons, I search for new and exciting video games, and there are few joys in life that compare to a good rollercoaster. But as childlike as I am in my heart, my body has proven that time does indeed march on, as evidenced by the loss of cartilage in my hips. The effects of rheumatoid arthritis has been staved off through low impact exercise, nutritional supplements, and weight loss. But it creeps in when I overstep my bounds, which I am prone to do from time to time.<br />
<br />
This year BabyMan surprised me for our anniversary by taking the day off of work, and taking me to Six Flags for the day, something I had been begging him to do since the last time we went about 3 years ago. I was in heaven. The weather was beautiful, the crowd was manageable, and I couldn't have planned a more perfect time. But walking all day on hard pavement inflamed my hips, and by the time we arrived home, I was in tears, and couldn't walk or stand. BabyMan instructed me to take a couple of Aleve, and go to bed.<br />
<br />
He hated seeing me in agony, and announced that that would be my last trip to the theme park. I protested loudly. "NO! I can handle it. This is temporary. I want to go again next year!"<br />
<br />
"I don't think so, Babe. Your body clearly can't handle it."<br />
<br />
I couldn't let him give up on me like this. It's my body, I'll decide what I can handle. I decided not to argue about it at that time, after all, I have a year in which to convince him that I shouldn't have to give up one of my passions. The subject would be revisited when the time is right, but for now, I was in pain.<br />
<br />
I woke up stiff, my bones creaking like rusty hinges on a door. Bearing weight on my hips and legs was frightening, but I knew that the unsteadiness would last only a couple of hours. BabyMan watched me, shaking his head as I gingerly stepped through my morning routine. I kept a brave face and shrugged it off as though it were nothing. "I'll be fine as soon as I get my bearings," I assured him.<br />
<br />
"I'm sure you will, " he said. "But I don't want you going to the gym today, no matter how good you feel later. Okay?"<br />
<br />
"No problem,"<br />
<br />
"I mean it," he reiterated sternly. "No gym."<br />
<br />
I really did plan on taking it easy. But as the morning wore on, a few truths came to light. I hadn't had a good workout in over 3 days due to another minor illness, and... I had gained 3 lbs over the weekend.<br />
<br />
What could be the harm in doing a few minutes of cardio on the elliptical? <br />
<br />
At about noon, I got dressed, grabbed my MP3, a bottle of water and took off for the gym. The cardio was tough, but I even had enough energy and stamina to work on my abs and obliques.<br />
<br />
Okay, big mistake. I admit it. My hips were throbbing by the time I got to the wifi cafe where I opened my laptop and began chatting with a friend as I worked on another post. I was there almost an hour before I realized what time it was.<br />
<br />
Now, I had made a valiant effort to keep in contact with BabyMan during the day last month as he asked me to, but unfortunately fell short enough times that he felt the need to extend the task to the 15th of July (our anniversary). And I was keeping up with it pretty well... Until today. I was busy, tired, distracted and in pain, and I dropped the ball. I excused myself from chatting to my friend and feverishly dialed his work number.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy3RKgwk2Bmj1_XD981C2dHiOn7ANBYg4ufpGzpM3Td1xwXEOylNP_CfW7B0f1yW8u12VVnizwShZot-P10Jqwjjx0_sszyuEt5UGvbnorRarFncpzwEqyvZjKCSoZtymxceAP7xdxGymy/s1600/contact.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" rw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy3RKgwk2Bmj1_XD981C2dHiOn7ANBYg4ufpGzpM3Td1xwXEOylNP_CfW7B0f1yW8u12VVnizwShZot-P10Jqwjjx0_sszyuEt5UGvbnorRarFncpzwEqyvZjKCSoZtymxceAP7xdxGymy/s200/contact.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>"Hey, Baby," I said nervously.<br />
<br />
"Hey, Beautiful," he said cheerfully. <em>Good he doesn't realize what time it is.</em> We spoke for a few minutes about his upcoming sermon at a friend's ministry that evening across town, and then...<br />
<br />
"What makes you late today?" he asked <br />
<br />
<em>Damn!</em><br />
<br />
"I'm sorry. I screwed up. I just got so busy..."<br />
<br />
"Really? Are you chatting on the computer?"<br />
<br />
<em>How does he know these things?</em> "Uh, well, yeah, a little."<br />
<br />
"So, let me get this straight. You can find time to talk to friends on your laptop, but you can't seem to call your husband in a three hour time span?"<br />
<br />
I didn't like the way this conversation was going, and I didn't have a good enough defense. Then things suddenly took a turn for the worse.<br />
<br />
"Did you go to the gym today?"<br />
<br />
<em>Why, oh WHY did he ask that?</em><br />
<br />
"Well, uh... yeah. For a bit."<br />
<br />
"So you disobeyed me and worked out when I told you to take it easy today?"<br />
<br />
This was turning out to be such a crappy day! What came out of my mouth was a series of grunts. "I... oh....uh...you...uh...," it was one long vowel movement.<br />
<br />
"I'll be home at 5:00. Be ready. Girl up. Short skirt. Make me a salad for dinner. I'll just have enough time to eat, go over my sermon, spank you and get on the road."<br />
<br />
God, I hate it when he's so non chalant about this. Like spanking is simply an obligation that interferes with his life, like getting a haircut.<br />
<br />
My call waiting signal on my phone went off. I looked at the caller ID. "Mom's trying to call me," I said. "But your more important. I'll call her later."<br />
<br />
BabyMan laughed. "Oh, now you're trying to score points, huh?"<br />
<br />
"Is it working?"<br />
<br />
"Nice try, Baby. I'll see you at five."<br />
<br />
I was putting the finishing touches on his salad when he walked in. He kissed me, dropped the mail on the counter and said,<a href="http://lovingsugaranne.blogspot.com/2010/07/i-could-feel-her-nervousness-and-worry.html?zx=f6ee03562b52934a"> "let's take care of this."</a><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ocuNnERaJkan4C3QVBSSj9cmqvynJvGeuuC_GK50xd4jMuJGjmClZInDoR2dc5_9jajRfrfbjSfDrwJslr1L3QLa20W-5oHRzPMVaXAcUme-mkNme_J8me3ohojFCdPH3c3oEFVB4WJ2/s1600/over+the+couch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" rw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ocuNnERaJkan4C3QVBSSj9cmqvynJvGeuuC_GK50xd4jMuJGjmClZInDoR2dc5_9jajRfrfbjSfDrwJslr1L3QLa20W-5oHRzPMVaXAcUme-mkNme_J8me3ohojFCdPH3c3oEFVB4WJ2/s200/over+the+couch.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>In the den, BabyMan constructed what he called a “spanking station” consisting of the couch’s armrest, a dining room chair and a pillow, designed to hoist my behind high in the air. During the spanking I kicked and bucked until he pinned my legs down with his, and then proceeded to incinerate my behind with the leather paddle and then the bath brush.<br />
<br />
After he was through, he had me remain in position to think about my actions and my inactions of the day, his version of “Corner Time.” I held my place for several minutes and sobbed quietly while he turned to the computer and brought up the sermon he was to deliver this evening.<br />
<br />
After a while he turned to me and released me from my position of penance. I rose silently, and melted as he folded his arms around me.<br />
<br />
“Thank you for my salad,” he said. “It looks delicious.”<br />
<br />
“You’re… welcome,” I choked out as I fought to calm my breathing.<br />
<br />
“I need to go over my sermon. Will you listen to it and tell me what you think?”<br />
<br />
“Sure,” I stepped back from him and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “What’s the subject?”<br />
<br />
BabyMan smiled. “Obedience.”SugarAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00628576666136112710noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4552524845951276211.post-73047441118950710182010-07-03T19:48:00.000-05:002010-07-03T19:48:24.411-05:00Jamaican Me Crazy<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><em><strong>I was recently reminded by a fellow blogger that my husband had made a post a while back alluding to an incident that took place on our Jamaican vacation, called </strong></em><a href="http://lovingsugaranne.blogspot.com/2010/03/let-freedom-sting.html"><em><strong>Let Freedom Sting</strong></em></a><em><strong>. It occured to me that I had posted my version of this story in a forum many months ago. I'm afraid it doesn't make me look too good, but... I'm kind of getting used to that.</strong></em><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3Ep1BvkcqqPBJKPrVNc8xzYdAlRvrCVWrlh_l_NE3GZ4ZeoEgHz1sTdOZm7ku4cUr7zDNrtB2_WHzy2kgCG2xWgqE1jAeijeGz5CUsLZ1GHVDHClb7eSylU6OW5_KNmcjO8Od-cKt6wAj/s1600/jamaica.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="204" rw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3Ep1BvkcqqPBJKPrVNc8xzYdAlRvrCVWrlh_l_NE3GZ4ZeoEgHz1sTdOZm7ku4cUr7zDNrtB2_WHzy2kgCG2xWgqE1jAeijeGz5CUsLZ1GHVDHClb7eSylU6OW5_KNmcjO8Od-cKt6wAj/s320/jamaica.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
The fourth day of our wonderful Jamaican getaway at a beautiful resort in Montego Bay had been sullied by a wave of hormonal disharmony. I found myself being annoyed and irritated at everything and everyone and opted to disappear rather than talk to my husband about what was bothering me. I greeted BabyMan first thing in the morning with a series of grunts, and snapped that nothing was wrong when he inquired about my mood. I didn't join him in the gym like I had every morning since we arrived. I ate breakfast by myself, and when I spotted him approaching the dining hall, skirted off to the pool. When I saw him approaching the pool area, I got up and went to the lobby of the resort and dashed out the front entrance. <br />
<br />
Across the street was a small structure that had once been a bus stop, but was now housing four Jamaican gypsy cab drivers waiting to snag tourists for a cheap tour of the island. I approached them somewhat assertively to find how warm and welcoming they were. We engaged in conversation, these four entrepreneurs, and myself. They called me Princess and kissed my hand. They asked about my hometown, I inquired about the history of the island of Jamaica... it was all very comfortable. I lost track of time, realizing later that I had been hanging out with four strange men for the better part of an hour. I thanked my hosts and turned back toward the resort.<br />
<br />
"Before you go, Princess, how 'bout some good smoke?"<br />
<br />
I stopped in my tracks and turned to look at the oldest man in the quartet. "Excuse me?" I whispered <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNC-QDt_QpoqZ2OMJVsfDofYyMdciVfZTe8kAsGa4ts29Up5G0z4o7mAsdiqc9IBuzomEWRnMyXUm02I261XCaFRrs2ef9djPvWILvgED1MLjO5W2ve-yg2vt6PeEplRYsdo3w_NIyzqGm/s1600/rasta.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="120" rw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNC-QDt_QpoqZ2OMJVsfDofYyMdciVfZTe8kAsGa4ts29Up5G0z4o7mAsdiqc9IBuzomEWRnMyXUm02I261XCaFRrs2ef9djPvWILvgED1MLjO5W2ve-yg2vt6PeEplRYsdo3w_NIyzqGm/s200/rasta.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>"You smoke?"<br />
<br />
"You mean..."<br />
<br />
"Ganja. Yes. Got some good stuff here."<br />
<br />
I knew it was all over the island. There's an entire religion that incorporates marijuana as spiritual enhancement, it's a way of life to a huge population in Jamaica. It just never occurred to me that the island natives would have the nerve to offer it to the tourists. It is, after all, still officially illegal here. I was surprised that he felt that I was approachable to the subject. I had told him that I was the wife of a pastor, what made him sense that I would be open to this? This was exciting, delicious, intriguing. I smiled almost flirtatiously. "You in a generous mood today, or are you looking to make a buck?"<br />
<br />
"I'm sellin' Sweet Ting" he said. "But I'll part wit a sample just to wet da appetite, eh?"<br />
<br />
I began shaking my head in protest. "My husband would kill me if I..." my voice trailed off as I gently touched the goose-bumps on my arm. "I haven't smoked weed in almost 20 years." <br />
<br />
"Don't yah tink you should get reacquainted den?"<br />
<br />
I glanced back at the resort, and then back at this captain of industry. "Tell you what, Hon. If I decide to take you up on that, I'll know where to find you." He kissed my hand again, and I ran off before I had a chance to change my mind.<br />
<br />
Passing the pool, the dining hall, the bar, I didn't spot BabyMan. I finally found him lying on the bed in the room watching a movie on HBO in his swimming trunks. He didn't look happy. I decided to stay quiet, despite my much improved disposition. I thought it best to turn and get out of there fast.<br />
<br />
"Where have you been?" His voice was tense. Not a good sign.<br />
<br />
I stopped in my tracks and pivoted to face him. "You know... around," I said.<br />
<br />
"Uh huh," he said as he sat up in the bed. "Sugar, I don't like the way you've been treating me all morning. You won't talk to me, you've been avoiding me for hours. What the hell is going on?"<br />
<br />
"I'm sorry. I'm not mad at you. "<br />
<br />
"I didn't think so. I haven't done anything to deserve this."<br />
<br />
"I can't seem to control my emotions today," I dropped my head in contrition. "I'm really sorry. I felt one of my temper explosions coming on this morning and... well I disappeared to protect you."<br />
<br />
He looked at me and nodded his head sympathetically. He really did understand, he had seen the hormonal imbalances turn me into everything from a sex crazed commando to a tantrum prone lunatic, and, God love him, he had exhibited patience far beyond what I deserved over the last few months. But he'd be damned if he was going to let me put a damper on our Jamaican vacation. "I understand your emotions are out of control. But you have to communicate with me. We've been down this road too many times before, and I won't allow you to just withdraw, leaving me to figure out what's going on."<br />
<br />
"I know. I..." I stopped cold as I watched him grab the pillows and stack them at the edge of the bed. I closed my eyes and tried desperately to squeeze a tear out of my eye. Nothing. I whispered a couple of curse words to myself. Okay, I had been here before. No big deal, So I was going to be spanked for withdrawing and running away without a word to him. I can take it. We hadn't brought the paddle with us on this trip so he'll have to use his hand. I can handle this.<br />
<br />
"I'm going to help you get back on track, Baby," BabyMan said as he rose and walked to the chair where he had tossed his clothes.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHjnJ8IjLoqm5t_mJ6UHM6EYHSMg7cxFeJ2PgBJHTSLbqJj2w6ktLI6Wxt2PjV1m7fQaQ0dNs4Z4NU78V5d0rziqoSHq_93hKQkKv2YAXBJ6wfgGzkIRZMA2grDEMslIS_RlmauXCT4HOI/s1600/anticipation1.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" rw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHjnJ8IjLoqm5t_mJ6UHM6EYHSMg7cxFeJ2PgBJHTSLbqJj2w6ktLI6Wxt2PjV1m7fQaQ0dNs4Z4NU78V5d0rziqoSHq_93hKQkKv2YAXBJ6wfgGzkIRZMA2grDEMslIS_RlmauXCT4HOI/s320/anticipation1.png" width="320" /></a></div>I clenched my teeth and placed my thumbs inside the waistband of my bathing suit bottoms and pulled them down below the sit spot. "I really am sorry," I repeated as I draped myself over the pillows. I cradled my chin in the palms of my hands as I watched BabyMan reach for his shorts on the chair and pull the belt from the loops. This was new. I never thought that he'd actually use his belt, as he had never used it before. "Hey, wait a second," I began my protest when I felt his hand on the small of my back. It was too late. I bit my lip and closed my eyes tight.<br />
<br />
"You have to communicate with me, Sugar. You can't keep doing this to me. It's unfair." He punctuated each sentence with a gentle, merciful slap of the belt. I had anticipated intense, searing pain, but instead received an unimpassioned temperate spanking that left me somewhat confused and relieved.<br />
<br />
It took me a moment, but I suddenly realized what was happening here. He was unsure of using the belt. He was hesitant... cautious...timid even. The belt slapped my bottom leniently, just enough to create a light sting, but not enough to be categorized as painful. I took sharp breaths through clenched teeth, and whimpered just enough for him to be satisfied that he had made an impression.<br />
<br />
Now, here's where things began to turn south. I don't know exactly how I suddenly became a conniving, manipulative, scheming opportunist. Normally, I'm not... Really! But it was then that something went off in my head telling me that I could use his lack of determination to my advantage. The devil was sitting on my shoulder whispering a plan in my ear. <em>He's scared to use that belt on you. You know he should have burned your butt. You got away with murder here. You know what else you can get away with? You can buy a joint from that dude across the street. C'mon, you may never get another chance like this. You know you want to.</em><br />
<br />
Lying there, upturned ass, contrite as hell, my halo being restored to it's normal vibrancy, I felt an evil grin begin to take form at tha corners of my mouth.<br />
<br />
Our practice is that after a spanking I am not to move out of place until he gives me permission. I waited patiently while I watched him toss the belt on the bed and retrieve his glasses, book and beach towel. "You can get up now," he said quietly.<br />
<br />
I rose, adjusted my bathing suit, and sat on the bed. The devil on my shoulder took over, telling me exactly what to say.<br />
<br />
"Baby, what would you say if I said I was offered pot by one of the locals?" I said.<br />
<br />
BabyMan turned off the television, grabbed his sandals and sat next to me while he slipped them on.. "I'd say I'm not surprised. Those cabbies across the street offered it to me yesterday." He suddenly frowned, "Is that where you were this morning, hanging out with those guys?"<br />
<br />
"Yes," I said sheepishly.<br />
<br />
Exasperated, he shook his head. In all fairness he should have reached for that belt again. Wandering around outside of the resort without him was another act of disobedience. I smiled when I realized that once again, he simply didn't have the nerve. This was going to be too easy.<br />
<br />
"What would you say if I said I'm considering buying a little?" I was pushing my luck at this point, but luck was clearly on my side.<br />
<br />
He took his glasses off and rubbed the lenses on his shirt. "I'd say think again."<br />
<br />
"Now wait a minute, let's talk about this. I'm just talking about a little... and you know I've been hormonally nuts lately, it'll really calm me down."<br />
<br />
"Sugar..."<br />
<br />
"And you know we smelled someone smoking it when we were on our balcony the other night. It's not like it's a big deal around here."<br />
<br />
"Sugar ..."<br />
<br />
"And since I haven't smoked in years, just a teeny bit would do the trick. We're just talking about medicinal purposes here."<br />
<br />
"SUGARANNE!"<br />
<br />
"WHAT?"<br />
<br />
"What is the matter with you? You know better. We had this conversation years ago and agreed that neither one of us would allow it in our lives again."<br />
<br />
"Yeah, well maybe I want to revisit that agreement." <br />
<br />
"I'm not going to argue with you about this. The answer is no." His face softened. "Now come on, let's go to the pool."<br />
<br />
As he headed for the door and opened it, he looked back to see that I had remained seated. I opened my mouth and the words that came out surprised me. It was like the devil sitting on my shoulder was talking a mile a minute and I was having a hard time keeping up. "I'm gonna do it," I said. "I... I think this is an opportunity I may never have again, and... I... I think I may not have the willpower to withstand the temptation..."<br />
<br />
"Sugar, are you saying that you're going to disobey me?"<br />
<br />
"I'm saying that you helped me quit cigarettes by giving me a reminder of what a punishment would feel like if I fell off the wagon." I picked his belt up off the bed and held it out to him. "I think you should do the same here."<br />
<br />
Now I knew what that scheming little devil on my shoulder was doing, and how very, very clever of her! Find out what he's capable of. Can he really bring himself to use the belt effectively? Not a chance. He was as afraid of that thing as I was. <em>If you scream and cry and carry on as if you're being tortured, BabyMan will think he's done his job, and you can get away with a really nice high or two!</em><br />
<br />
"Sugar, with the cigarettes we were dealing with an addiction. Your lack of willpower was understandable. Now you're just talking about an act of defiance."<br />
<br />
"We're talking about an act of desperation. I need something to take the edge off. And I think this might help me get over the temptation."<br />
<br />
I rose as he took the belt from my hand and sighed. "Okay, let's get this over with," he said almost sadly. He tapped the bed in the place where he wanted me to bend over. I turned, lowered my bathing suit, and placed my elbows on the mattress. This was going to be a breeze. The devil whispered excitedly in my ear again. <em>Even if he spanks you twice as hard as he had a moment ago, it would still all be worth it. The belt is no longer a threat to you, but apparently it he's scared to death of it. You're home free, and you won't have any problem buying a joint in the next day or two and smoking it on the beach. you can do it openly, honestly, take your so-called "punishment" and it will all have been worth...</em><br />
<br />
WHAP!<br />
<br />
The first blow cut off my breath and my head bolted up. "HOLY SHIT!" I yelled. "No, no, no..." this was not what I had planned! I put my hands on the bed and attempted to push myself up but felt a strong hand on my back push me back down. WHAP! The second blow struck the exact same spot as the belt wrapped around my right cheek and stung my hip. I had no time to recover from the second blow, when a third came, and then a fourth. I felt the tears push through the back of my eyeballs and spill out onto the bedspread. WHAP! I reached back with my right hand to protect myself from the assault.<br />
<br />
"Move your hand, Sugar. You know the rules."<br />
<br />
"Wait, wait, wait, WAIT!"<br />
<br />
"Wait for what? You wanted a demonstration of the consequences of disobeying me," WHAP! "You're going to do what you want to do regardless of my word?" WHAP! "Possibly getting caught and winding up in a jail cell," WHAP! "compromising the integrity of our ministry," WHAP! "maybe having to hire a lawyer to keep you out of a foreign prison system," WHAP! "possibly starting a new habit that's going to compromise your health," WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!<br />
<br />
I was panicking now. There was only one way out of this, and that was to run. I lifted my knee up onto the bed and began to furiously crawl across the king sized mattress toward freedom... until I felt a strong hand wrap around my ankle and pull me back. I watched helplessly as my nails dragged along the bedspread. A strong arm wrapped around my waist and lifted me back in place.<br />
<br />
"Oh no you don't. We're not done."<br />
<br />
"Baby, Please! I didn't think..."<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF5mqqJYyQSJCJQ26G9DuqnQ9jIKG209-mGJCZ53C_8oW7tpSoTmnvTQ0JLKtoJd-FXmEWO_jSAr8cG8H8kXx-pM3EYKw3AyyirWxy9Jh-XMINjMBVFhfta4vQQez4gkrzMEvPDXIDJFAF/s1600/screaming.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="125" rw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF5mqqJYyQSJCJQ26G9DuqnQ9jIKG209-mGJCZ53C_8oW7tpSoTmnvTQ0JLKtoJd-FXmEWO_jSAr8cG8H8kXx-pM3EYKw3AyyirWxy9Jh-XMINjMBVFhfta4vQQez4gkrzMEvPDXIDJFAF/s200/screaming.jpg" width="200" /></a>"No, you didn't think." WHAP! "You wanna smoke? I'LL MAKE YOUR BUT SMOKE!" WHAP! My butt was indeed on fire. My cheeks were being set ablaze by a branding iron, and there was nothing I could do about it. I reached for a pillow and shoved my face into it. I heard myself screaming. My head was spinning as I pounded the mattress with my fist. I lifted my head and shrieked several expletives that I hadn't used in years.</div><br />
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!<br />
<br />
I couldn't take it any more. My arms buckled, and I collapsed on the bed. I was hyper-ventilating as though I had just run a marathon. He lifted me up again to continue, and I started to sob uncontrollably. WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!<br />
<br />
Suddenly it stopped and the silence was almost deafening. I waited for permission to move while he waited for me to calm down.<br />
<br />
After a coupple of minutes, he said, "Okay, you can get up now."<br />
<br />
Trembling, I reached back and gently touched a horrible tender swelling on my backside as BabyMan sat down on the bed beside me. I lifted my head from the tear and sweat soaked pillow, stood up and hobbled over to the bathroom to examine myself. There it was. I stood horrified as three large black and blue marks began to form on my right butt cheek right before my eyes. BabyMan walked in behind me and caught a glimpse of my mark of distinction, and a long whistle escaped his lips.<br />
<br />
"Look what you did to me, you lunatic!" I snapped. "That wasn't a spanking, that was a whipping, and you know it!" I whined. "Do you have any idea how..." When I looked at his face I noticed a hint of a grin at the corners of his mouth. "What the hell is so damned funny?" I snapped.<br />
<br />
"You are," he sighed. "You thought I was too much of a wimp to use this thing," he slapped the belt in his hand. "And you thought smoking some weed would be worth a wimpy spanking. Am I close?"<br />
<br />
My mouth fell open. "How... I... you... " I looked to the devil for some answers. The little bitch had conveniently disappeared from my shoulder. "How did you know?" I mumbled.<br />
<br />
"Give me some credit, will ya? I took it easy on you earlier because I knew you were feeling bad, and it wasn't necessary to blister you to make my point. And just to make it clear, that was just a sample of what would happen if you disobeyed me on this subject. A punishment would be worse. <em>A lot worse</em>." <br />
<br />
We both stared at my bruise in the mirror for the next couple of minutes in silence. "Still want that weed, Babe?"<br />
<br />
"Noooo," I moaned.<br />
<br />
"Good!" BabyMan perked up cheerfully and slapped me hard on my bruise. "I'm hungry. Let's go to lunch."SugarAnnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00628576666136112710noreply@blogger.com7