Weekend check-ins are a funny thing… they either don’t happen at all or, if they do, they are often more intense than the everyday, weekday ones. We tend to be more relaxed and have more time, and if the kids are busy enough with their play we might leave them alone for a few minutes longer. (If they’re out with the nanny, that’s when the fun really happens. Sometimes.)
So, last Saturday, after a leisurely breakfast, the kids got stuck into a new movie, and I asked Xander if we could we “go to the back” (our code for “rules and morning spanking”). He asked, a bit tongue-in-cheek “You really like your spankings, hm?” I had to tell him, “To be honest, I don’t like them so much anymore, but I know I’ll have a much better day if we do our check-in.”
In the bedroom, he sat on the bed and I kneeled before him to recite my rules. We were both relaxed and in a joking mood, and Xander was fiddling with the tawse in his hand. Now, I do like the tawse – mmmmh, leather! – but man, he’s spanking hard these days. And having the implement right in front of my nose (where I couldn’t ignore it) made me nervous, because it reminded me that soon after the warm-up, it was going to sting me a lot before I’d begin to like it again — and only if Xander decided to give me some of the fun sort at all.
My first rule is “I’m your little slave girl, and I love you.” The second half, while absolutely true, also allows him (and me) a good read on how connected I feel to him, by the way I say it. Most days, I’ll say “and I love you very much.” That day, with the tawse in my face, I said, “and I love you… I think.” We had a good laugh, and I found my way back into saying my rules properly. When I was done and on my way over his lap, I kissed him and said, “I love you very much.” Because, I really do. And because I’d just sassed him and he was holding a frickin’ tawse. He laughed and replied: “That’s good, and it doesn’t change a thing. Because I love you, too, and that’s why I’m giving you what you need.”
I was still laughing for the first three or four strokes. But he was spanking hard and fast, and this spanking very quickly turned into no fun at all. I went from laughing to something much closer to crying in a heartbeat, but it didn’t appear as if Xander realised it. In every maintenance spanking, he takes me slightly past the point of my tolerance, but this one was much worse than the “usual” maintenance. I normally don’t beg for a spanking to stop, because unless something else is wrong (like a cramp or such), he won’t anyways, and it’s understood that the moment I’m over his lap, my job is to submit as gracefully as I can to what he gives. But this time? It hurt bad enough that I was begging ‘Please, no more!’ several times. And nope, it didn’t change a thing. That spanking felt like it was going on and on and on. I was pretty sure he still thought I was laughing, and if I’d somehow told him in words, “I’m crying,” he would probably have let up a bit, but I chose not to. I just tried to keep quiet enough so the kids wouldn’t hear me. I had squirmed too much for his taste earlier, so he pinned my legs and short of me safewording, this spanking – like all of our spankings – was going to be as long and as hard as Xander decided. And you know what? Although I can say with certainty I didn’t want the thrashing I was copping, and even if I was pretty sure he was gauging how hard and long to spank me on the faulty assumption that I was still laughing, I was really, deeply OK with it. The moment I lie down over his lap, I submit to him, fully. I get my say in what happens back after he decides we’re done and I may get up. And frankly? I wouldn’t want it any other way. I want him to be in control.
But something about all this still had me baffled for days, and I couldn’t figure out what. This definitely hadn’t been the spanking I wanted, and I wasn’t all that sure it was only what I needed, either, and yet I was happy with the way it had gone. I kept wondering if something was wrong with me. And only through writing this post it finally dawned on me why this really was all OK: It’s that by now we have done this long enough that I can trust my man to get it right even when I think he’s getting it wrong. This is what makes this is a power exchange, and not an abusive relationship: I’m handing over control of my own free will, and he takes it and does with it what he thinks is right, because that is what we both want. In return, he’s giving his leadership, strength and care to me in a way that I can’t have any other way.
Later on the day of the spanking, I told him that after the third or fourth swat, I hadn’t been laughing anymore, and he confirmed he hadn’t been sure. “It’s really hard to tell some time.” He didn’t apologise. He didn’t have to. Because, while he may have misread my emotional state, he absolutely didn’t misread the responses of my body over his lap and he really did give me what I needed:
And a spanking worth writing about.