thinking [ m ] thursday

I want the pain that comes after the no, after the stop, after the protests.
I want the pain that transcends the physical and becomes this far away thing that feels better and better the more savage it becomes.
I want the pain that leaves reminders – stripes, bruises, scratches.
I want the pain that takes me out of my head.
I want the kind of pain that feeds my love and recharges my soul.

The thing is, though, when I invite pain in I do so reluctantly, sparingly, greedily.
It scares me.
More accurately, I scare me.
After all this time, all these years, all my life, I should have stomped the hangups.
I should be able to embrace every last thing and stand tall and proud in my desires.
Instead, I am scared.
I worry that something I like, became something I want, became something I need.
Like an addict, will I always want more, one step further, a little harder, a little longer, a little more?
Will it ever be enough?
Will I ever be enough?
And so it is that I try to shut it down before I cross the line. As much as I desire the line to be erased, I fight hard as hell to stop it before we get there.
I want to give over to Sir and what I am too insecure to give, I want Him to take.
And in the taking, I want His soul recharged.
I want my tears to free Him as they free me.

I worry about Him, too.
Sometimes I think Sir thinks I am a delicate creature.
Or that He is too kind.
I worry that His confidence in me is less than stellar.
Maybe He thinks I won’t safeword.
Maybe He thinks I won’t know the subtle change between hurt and harm.
Maybe He worries about His own hangups and projects them onto me.

I can hear it know, the chorus chanting “communication is the answer”.
I know that.
We communicate.
We communicate to no end.
We talk, we work, we adjust.
It has been a rough few years.
Family things, work things, setback upon setback.
Some things remain constant.
Love. Marriage. Trust. D/s.
But the play part of D/s has changed and shifted – some lovely changes and some that I deeply grieve..
It is life. Nothing is static. Everything constantly changes.

I am ready for more.
I am ready to get this dialed in.
I am ready to sink back into what I am.
I am ready to drown in Him.
I am ready to let it all go, again.
I am ready to hurt.


…then the world shifted

How do you write about an experience that goes well beyond words?  How do you convey the magnitude of what has changed inside you, when the vocabulary just isn’t there?

I have attempted this feat no less than five times and failed.  This is my sixth attempt and possibly my last.  If I cannot get the message across, just know that I have grown by leaps and bounds and changed for the better.


I’ve already posted about my crappy Friday, so I won’t bore you with that again.  I only bring it up so that you understand that I was VERY determined to make the weekend fantastic.

Saturday was great.  A day chock full of family stuff, but Sir and I were just connecting on a much higher level.  You know the one… just overly aware and in tune with each other.  Happy Sir, happy sub, happy minions.  Happy day.

Sunday began in much the same way. Connected and happy. We walked into Lowe’s for some paint and hardware, and the day took a nosedive.  The paint guy would not stop trying to flirt with me – I just wasn’t having it, Sir had gone to get the screws, and it was crowded. I was starting to get very anxious and just needed to leave, but everything was slow.  When Sir finally came back, I gave Him an attitude. He began to count quietly.  I am very aware of the wrath His numbers bring, but instead of checking myself, I may have said “Go ahead and count, I don’t care” and I may have hauled ass down the aisle and over to the next.  Sir continued to count, and followed me into the next aisle.  As He got closer, He told me to come to Him… I did. I didn’t want to ruin the day and I had begun to realize that my childish behavior was a mistake. We had a quick talk in the middle of Lowe’s – I apologized and we sealed it with a quick peck on the lips.  The rest of the day went swimmingly, the Lowe’s incident long forgotten by bedtime.  We took a long shower – we washed and played and washed again.  I was a happy girl – spent and content.  I crawled into bed, laid my head on Sir’s chest, relaxed in my home, and prepared for the sweet dance into sleep.  We talked about nothing, Sir stroked my arm.

“Urrrrgggghhhhh, I have to take care of something first.”

I had no clue what was going on, I thought maybe He had to check the doors again or something. That was not the case. He straddled my back, pulled the top of my pants down…smack…ever so lightly. “You have 40 from the store.”  Shit.

***Let me pause right here to say that I have had PLENTY of punishment spankings (sadly), most with an implement and most VERY hard. Please keep that in mind.***

So…I’d gotten one, rather tame, spanking on my behind from Sir’s hand… and I LOST it. I cried.  I begged. I pleaded. I blubbered. I wailed. I begged and begged some more for Him to stop. He gave me ten during all of that. As soon as He said ten, he was beside me, asking why I was crying like that. Sir knew He was not spanking me hard, so He was sure it was not a physical pain. At first, I could not answer Him, I just continued blubbering and crying.  I had a hard time trying to grasp exactly why I was having a problem. Sir was patient, listened to me trying to explain that I just didn’t want them because I was so very sorry, but He didn’t budge.  He very calmly told me that I had earned them in the store and if He didn’t give them to me, it would mean nothing…His words would mean nothing. After a few minutes, I could breathe again and Sir gave me the remaining 30 swats.  “You don’t like those kind do you? Those aren’t the good kind, are they?”  “NO, Sir”

I cried tears that I have NEVER cried before.  Those tears were straight from my soul. That was the only punishment that has ever affected me in such a way. This is not to say that I have never been sorry for my behavior, or never thought about my transgressions during punishment spankings. I always hate disappointing Sir, but somehow it was different. (This is where it gets tricky to explain, sorry if I ramble)  I’m not entirely sure what was so different. Maybe it was the fact that I knew we would not be having sex after my punishment. Maybe it was because I knew Sir was not happy to have to give those spankings to me. Maybe it was because my Sir knew that I needed consistency, even if He’d rather just hold me. Maybe it was because I felt fucking horrible about the way that I’d acted and that I’d put my Husband in this position in the first place.  Maybe it was because I felt relieved that He was following through, despite my meltdown.  Maybe it was because all of a sudden everything just felt much more real. I’m still not able to pinpoint the how’s and why’s, but I know that during those long minutes, something inside of me changed. I felt it then and I still feel it now.  Whatever changed is permanent and it is so good. It kind of feels like that last bit of wall inside of me, that last bit that needed to hold on to just a little bit of power, was busted through and my submissive has completely taken over.  Everything I do, everything I think, everything I see, everything I say, everything I am… is all so very different, but still very much the same. The world shifted and I am just more … me.  We are more… we.