Autumn Winds

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 the abyss. 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.

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.

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.

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.

"The front room's a mess, Babe," he said.

"Yeah," I mumble as I rubbed my stinging bottom with the palm of my hand. "Who's gonna clean it up?" I quip.

"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."

I nod my head.

"That's your task for today. That and... make sure you get to the gym."

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.

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.

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.

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.

"Where have you been?" he demands.

"At Mom's."

"Why didn't you answer your phone? I called you about 30 minutes ago."

"I left it at Mom's place. I didn't realize it until I got to the store."

"Looks like you didn't get much done around here."

"I got a little done."  I look around at the mess.  "I tried."

He shrugs and sits down in the overstuffed chair. "Dinner?" he asks.

"Ready in about 15 minutes" I say, relieved that he's not pushing the issue.

"How was your workout?"

Damn! 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.

"I... didn't get to the gym."

"Why not?"

"I... lost track of time."

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.

We eat in silence while we watch old reruns of Sienfeld. I never know if he's going to be merciful and let me slide at this point. Sometimes he will, and sometimes...

"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.

There is no argument.  I have 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."

"No, I didn't decide... it just... happened." 

"Well we're going to make sure it doesn't just happen again. You will not disobey and ignore me with something this important.  Do you understand?"

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.

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.

It's over. 

Tomorrow, I think I'll clean the house and go to the gym.

Riddle Me This, Batman...

If the Joker spanks Batgirl, should she take it seriously?

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.

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.

So recently we decided to open up to one couple who were passing through town on route to their home from a short vacation.

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 Remember Your Place, Woman 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.

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.

"Say goodbye to your friend and come over here," he demanded.

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.

"What's this all about?" I asked.

He sighed, frustrated. "Why do you always have to question me?"

I sighed, just as frustrated. "What's the big secret? Why can't you just tell me?"

"Because you need practice being submissive."

"I do not. There's nothing wrong with the way I submit."

"...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!"

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.

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?"

He gently grabbed my shoulders and pushed me down across his lap. "Relax," he said. "I just want to get a few things straight."

"A few things like what?"

"We've got one of your chat girlfriends and her husband coming to visit tomorrow, and I think we should have an understanding."

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."

"Testoster... what? That's not even a word!"

"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. 

"Ow! I don't know what you're talking about!"

"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."

This wasn't fair at all! I haven't done anything wrong... yet.

"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.

"You have a tendency to tell me to shut up," he went on.

"Okay, I do. But it's in a really respectful way!"

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!

"Yes! I understand!"

"Who's HoH?" WHAP!

"Ow!  You are!"

"And who's the submissive wife?" WHAP!

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.  "Who?" WHAP!

"All right, dammit, I am!"

"You're going to treat me as though I were your first thought... and your last thought."

"I always do!"

"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..."

Oh, God, here it comes.

"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?"

"What?" I laughed nervously.  He's kidding... he's got to be kidding!

"Or better yet, maybe I'll just do it right in front of them."

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!"

"I absolutely would."

"You would not!"

"Oh no? You really want to try me?"

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.

I went to bed that night shocked, confused, unsure of his resolve, sure of his lunacy, a little nervous, and a lot sore.

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.

I Love it When...

... 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.

"What are you looking at?" I snipe mockingly.

"You." His smile broadens and his head cocks to the side. "When was the last time I spanked you?"

Uh oh... where's he going with this? "Three days ago, you beast."

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."

Ah, so you want to play, huh? I had been here many times before. I point a shaky finger at him and narrow my eyes. "You stay away from me!"

He snaps the book shut. "Go get the paddle."

"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."

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.

"Do not make me chase you, SugarAnne."

I fold my arms and jut out my chin trying desperately to keep from smiling. "I'll make you do whatever I want you to do."

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!"

"Come here," he demands

"Kiss my ass!"

He slaps the brush against the palm of his hand. "Oh, I'm going to kiss it all right," he growls.

I'm getting nervous. He makes a quick motion around the dining room table, and I counter by shooting to the other side.

"I'm not going to chase you, Sugar," he says calmly.

"HA!" I point that shaky finger at him again. "I'll 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."

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.

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.

My shaky finger juts out again. "NO! NO! that's not fair! You're not playing fair!"

His voice is eerily calm and scary. "I'm not playing... at all," 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.

"Well?"

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. "Bite me!" I say.

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..

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.

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.

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.

"NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!!!"

"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.

"You bastard!" I blurt out as I attempt to cover my behind with my hands.

"I'm sorry, what did you just call me?" WHACK, WHACK,WHACK...

What am I doing? think fast! "I said, bahstid. It's an Armenian word. it means loved one!"

"Liar!" WHACK, WHACK, WHACK...

"This hurts!" I squeal as I feel tears gather at the corners of my eyes.

"Good. It's supposed to hurt."

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!"

"Really?" he says as the paddling stops to hear my offer. "What'dya got?"

"WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

BabyMan steps back admiring his handy work for a moment and then... "Go get in bed and wait for me."

I slowly stand up and reach down for my pants.

"Leave the pants where they are," he says.

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.

"I know baby," he answers. "But before the day is out... you'll love me again."

Remotely Bratting

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?

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.

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.

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.

"It's the wrong one," he'll suddenly say

"What?"

"It's the wrong remote."

"What difference does it make? It controls the cable box."

"It doesn't turn the TV on or control the volume."

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?"

"I'm not going to get up every time I have to change the volume"

"You're spoiled! Are you familiar with the term Ugly American?"

"FIND THE RIGHT REMOTE!"

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.

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.

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.

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!"

I didn't like the sound of that. I called back sweetly, "Yeah, Baby?"

"COME HERE! NOW!"

Now he knows Tuesday night is an important chat night for me, and for him to drag me away...

I typed:  Uh oh. BRB.

before I got the laptop off my lap, I caught a glimps of Alex typing:  That doesn't sound so good.

I got off the couch and walked into the den. There BabyMan stood with the paddle in his hand. "Where is it?" he demanded.

"Where's what, Baby?" I asked as I kept my eye on the paddle .

"The remote for the den. Where is it?"

"I... don't know."

"FIND IT. NOW!"

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."

"FIND IT!"

I wanted to get back to my friends, but this wouldn't be a wise time to argue. What did I do with it? YES! The living room! 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."

I turned back and looked at him like a puppy that just peed on the carpet.

"Drop your pants and bend over the arm of the couch."    

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.

"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?"

"In the den!" I squealed out.

He placed the paddle on the arm of the couch and said "Put that where it belongs."

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.

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.

"SUGARANNE... WHERE"S THE REMOTE?"

Lifeline (part 2)

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.

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.

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:

“I want you to girl up. When I walk in that door, you’re to be in a skirt.”

I nodded.

We’re going to see The Other Guys tonight.”

I pouted again. “I don’t want to see that movie, it sounds stupid.”

“That’s okay, I want to see it, and you’re going to accompany me. Do you understand?”

I nodded again. This was clearly one of those “Yes Sir” 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.

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.

But he knows me now. He’s seen my flip technique 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.

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?).

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.

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!

Yeah! The paddle! I had never been so glad to see an old friend before. It wasn’t Epiphany, or that nasty bath brush!

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.

“You will have a chat curfew and you will abide by it.” WHAP! “When I tell you to get off the computer, you will do it immediately."  WHAP! “You will show me the respect I deserve”  WHAP! “You will drop everything when I walk in that door at 5:00 every day”  WHAP! “You will put your husband and your home  first”  WHAP!

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.

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.

“We’re leaving in ten minutes for the movie. Oh, and I put your boyfriend in the livingroom,” he said.

“My boyfriend?”

“Your laptop. You can have him back.”

Cutting off the Lifeline

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.

He stopped and turned to me, saying nothing, waiting for the explanation.

"Your workout clothes," I said. "They're downstairs in the dryer."

He nodded his head to signal that he understood, and headed for the door.

"Wait," I suddenly sounded a bit panicked. "Scratch that..."

He again looked to me for vital information, eyebrows lifted, eyes probing.

"They're not in the dryer. They're still in the washer."

"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.

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.

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.

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.

"Hi, Baby!" I said cheerfully. This was going to be a stretch.

"Hello," he smiled.

"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.

"A little, Why?"

"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..."

He grabbed me by the shoulders and gently pushed me off of him, still smiling. "Why? You trying to bribe me?"

"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.

"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. He wouldn't! He just wouldn't! I sat down on the bed, praying that that wouldn't be the last time I sat down anywhere.

"I told you I needed my gym clothes this morning, and you dropped the ball. Can you tell me why?"

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.

"Busy doing what?"

"I was... chatting."

"Yes, you were. This chatting thing is getting out of hand. Don't you agree?"

"No, not real..." I jumped as he gave Epiphany another loud snap. "Yes, completely out of hand!"
Oh God, Oh God, Oh God! 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?"

"Yes," my voice cracked.

"I think I need to give you a little reminder of your priorities and what's really important."

"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.

"Go pack up your laptop. I'm taking it with me today."

my head snapped back up. "You're what?"

"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."

"You can' take my computer away!" I whined like a spoiled teenager.

BabyMan laughed. "Would you look at yourself? You're absolutely panicked. You will survive without it. It won't kill you, and..."

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.

"A comment to your last post?" I queried.

"Yeah," he smiled.

"Look at you!" I jabbed a finger in his direction. "You're freakin' Pavlov's dog! You're just as sick as I am!"

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."

Suddenly I wasn't laughing anymore. I could feel the lines in my face turn to a full fledged pout.

"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."

To be continued...

Standing Long for Long Standing Issues

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.

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.

And sometimes he would march back into my space, angry and irritated.

"You need to get off the computer now, and pay attention to your husband!"

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..."

"Now, Sugar. Right now!"

"How can you expect me to extricate myself from a conversation with no warning?"

"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."

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 I hope you're happy attitude, and he'd glare right back at me daring me to say something cocky or impudent.

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.

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.

"No!' he demanded,"You stop typing right now!"

"Wait, I just have to finish this thought..."

"No, NOW!"

I looked at him and noted the determined look in his eye. "Kiss me, dammit," he barked.

"Okay, okay, Just let me tell her I'll be back"

"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!"
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?"

He looked at me soberly and mustered a slight smile for my happiness. "That's great, babe. When is she coming?"

"Second week in September"

"That's nice."

I turned and began dancing out of the den. "Are you hungry? I bought salmon for tonight."

"No, right now I want you to get the heavy wooden spoon from the kitchen and the bath brush and bring them to me."

I stopped in my tracks. I couldn't have heard right. I turned abruptly with my mouth open. "What?"

"You heard me."

"But... what did I do?"

"Just bring them, I'll tell you what you did."

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.

He looked at me and spotted only the spoon in my hand. "Get the brush," he said.

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.

"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.

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.

I did.

"Do you have any idea why you're being punished?"

I knew.  I just didn't want to say it.

"Take a wild guess," he whispered.

I couldn't look at him.  "I... ignored you when you came home?"

"Talking to K was a little more important to you than I was, right?"

"No!  No one's more important than you!"

"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?"

Really?  it can't be that often... can it?

"Well, it's going to stop, today.  I'm done allowing you to go on thinking this is all right."

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.
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.

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.

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...