one of those days

I told J that although I hated to admit it, that I really needed a spanking. He agreed, I'd been really down lately and he'd noticed that I was starting to withdraw into myself. He promised that when he got home from work, I'd get the spanking I needed.

Yesterday was just one of those days. Next week marks the sixth anniversary of my mothers passing. It's hard to believe that six years have gone by since the day that she left us all. The wounds still feel fresh and raw, and contrary to what everyone told me, it has not gotten better with time. Over time, I finished highschool and never got to see my moms face in the crowd when I walked across the stage to collect my diploma. I started dating my now husband, and never got to get her opinion of him (though I know she would love him), or giggle to her excitedly about him at the beginning of our relationship before I knew where we were going in life. Over those six years, I got married to the most wonderful man in the world, and my mother wasn't there to experience her first born being united with the person that completes me. My sister graduated highschool, and my mom didnt get to tell her how proud she was that she'd worked so hard. I got pregnant, and have to miss out on hearing first hand stories about how my mom felt when she was pregnant with me, what it was like for her to have her first child. I cant call her up and ask her for advice or if I'm worried about nothing. It seems that instead of getting better, the years that pass only remind me more of what should have been. Sometimes, I feel like the lost 16 year old I was when my mom passed away, not knowing where or who to turn to. After she passed away, my dad acted like we shouldn't be affected by the loss of our mother. It was easier for him to avoid the situation and pretend everything was okay than to deal with the raw emotion of it all (especially of us four kids). I knew that this was unhealthy and being the oldest, I stepped in to bear the brunt of the emotional pain for my siblings. I listened to them and their fears and assured them that we could get through it together and that things would be okay. That left me unable to unload my feelings on anyone. After so long of bottling up my feelings about losing her, it's impossible for me to express how I feel about it. I havent been able to admit aloud that I miss her, maybe because I fear that I will lose control of my emotion and not know how to shut it off.

When he did get home, he showered and we laid together in bed for awhile. He held me close to him and we talked a little, and watched tv. He asked me what I wanted him to use, and I didn't respond. Now that it was coming down to the time of the spanking I was starting to feel apprehensive, like maybe I'd make a mistake asking for this. Without missing a beat, he informed me that he knew what he wanted to use, but he didn't want me to know until I felt it. That made me feel even more nervous but I kind of had an idea what he had in mind. "You need a good one," he murmured into my hair and I nodded, because as nervous as I was about it, I really did.

He announced that it was time, and patted my maternity pillow. (This pillow is so perfect for spanking, its a giant "U" shaped pillow, so lay my thighs across the bottom of the "u" and squeeze the other 'arms' beneath me, which leaves an open pocket for my belly). As I positioned myself over it, he got up and went to the drawer. I buried my face and just waited. He tugged my shorts down and tapped my bottom with the implement he'd chosen and I knew it was leather. I whimpered but didn't say anything. I can't figure out why everyone thinks that leather is nicer than wood but I DISAGREE! That man wielding leather is a scary thing. He rubbed my back and said, "For the first set we're going to do 50 on each cheek and then I'll give you a break." He started on the right cheek and at first I bucked beneath the sting but began to focus on breathing and just rolling with the pain and it didn't hurt so bad. It was actually pretty tolerable, and I started to feel good about it. The left fifty was just like this and when he finished those he rubbed my bottom, squeezing and massaging. "Now we're gonna do 60 and 60," he announced.  These were harder to take, but the pain was managable. I put my hands back a couple times and I thought about asking him to use something else if there were going to be more, but reminded myself that he was in charge, and the five fingered strap was what he'd chosen, and I'd just have to accept that. When he'd finished the 60 on each, he stopped but only momentarily. This break wasn't as long as the previous one, and when he told me that I'd be getting 75 on each I felt like I might just cry right then. "If you put your hands back I'm going to add another one each time." He started on the left cheek (the one he just finished the 60 on!) and I couldn't breathe my way through it anymore. I wiggled and drummed my feet on the bed but somehow was able to keep my hands in front of me. I didn't think I could make it through the 75 on the right cheek but I did. When he finished, he lay down beside me and stroked my hair. "I think you're done, right babe?" he whispered. When I didn't say anything, he said, "Does that mean you're not done? Do you need more sweetie?" I shook my head frantically, the tears coming now. He pulled me into his arms and I sobbed while he rubbed my shoulders, and whispered "It's okay baby, cry it out." I snuggled into him and he held me tight, and I felt so close to him that we could be one person. "Do you want me to rub lotion on you?" he asked softly. "Not yet!" I didn't want to leave his arms. We laid together for a long time, and he kissed my shoulders and stroked my hair and made it clear that he loved me more than anything in the world. Finally I was ready, and he got up and got some lotion and rubbed it on my swollen butt. We held hands and kissed and talked for a while before settling into our sides of the bed to sleep (I have to be curled up in my mat. pillow or I wake up every hour).

I can't help that I feel the absence of my mom weighing me down from time to time. I am lucky to have an amazing, loving husband who is strong enough to reach into the churning water when I feel like I'm drowning and pull me out, choking and sputtering, and wrap me in a warm blanket of love until  I see the beauty in my life.

a wonderful reminder

            While I was watching J get dressed for work, I climbed up on the loveseat, resting my arms on the back of it and looking over my shoulder, winking playfully at him. He came over and put an arm around my waist, and started spanking me with his other hand. After about 10 or so hard whacks, he stopped and said, "Do you remember?"
             Well I was baffled. "Remember what?"
              He sighed, shaking his head, with a shimmer of a smile in his eye. "I guess not, get back up..." he said, helping me back up. He gave me another 10 hard smacks and said "Do you remember now?"
              "What am I supposed to remember? You have to tell me first before I can remember it!" I giggled, having no idea what he was talking about. I rubbed my butt as it was slightly warm now.
              "Tsk tsk," he shook his finger. "Get back up," he laughed. He gave me about 20 this time and I was wiggling and laughing.
                "NO fair!" I yelped. When he stopped, he asked me again if I remembered, and I said "Yep!"
                "Remember what?" he asked.
                 I shrugged. "I dont know, that your spankings hurt?"
                He shook his head, and told me to get back up. He gave me another 10 whacks and then leaned forward, his mouth next to my ear. "Remember how much I love you, baby." he murmured.

I haven't stopped smiling since.