Two nights ago I snuggled in close, my head on HIS  chest.  Signs were positive; it looked as though I might get lucky:)

HIS hand trailed down my chest and belly, little licks of heat forming under my skin.  I purred.

Who wouldn’t?

But then HE snapped the waistband of my boxers.

“What the heck is this?”  HIS voice was outraged.  My stomach sank.

Shoot.

OK, yeah, what I really thought: shit

We’re new at domestic discipline, having started years ago with bdsm and moving to dominance in our erotic life.  (I didn’t view that as bdsm, because it wasn’t fantasy or role play for us.  HE was dominant sexually and it made my toes curl.)   Now we are moving cautiously into a realm we both never thought we’d enter.  The words ‘punishment’  and ‘obey’ make me squirm at the same time as my heart starts to thunder in my chest.  Neither of us were interested in lists of rules right from the start.

“If I was interested in micro managing someone’s day I wouldn’t have married you.”

Good  point. I was relieved.  I was pretty sure micro managing me wouldn’t have worked well at all.

“Let’s make it up as we go.” HE said. “There’ll be plenty of things I want you to do, trust me on this one.

If I want a rule about something I’ll tell you. Then we talk, figure it out, decide.”

“No panties to bed.” Was the first rule, announced as an afterthought, gleefully, early on. I agreed. Excuse me- I submitted…… It left me vulnerable, in a sense, instantly accessible to HIM, and sexuality is an important part of This Thing We Do.

I’d had a bath much earlier this night, and put on my boxers for comfortable evening wear.  Say what you will about sexy lingerie, HE’s always had a thing for a woman in baggy boxers and an old T. Pre-domestic discipline I’d  always left them on.  Now,  apparently I’d forgotten to take them off.

“I can’t believe this, Babe.  Get ‘em off.”

And HE sounded annoyed.

I got out of my pants in record time while HE fumbled in his bedside drawer and came up with:

the loopy johnny.

With the program, now, I waited to be told what to do, laying back down where I was, curled towards HIM, hoping for grace.

” On your back.”

He levied a sharp, swack across each  inner thigh.

“On your stomach. Grab that pillow.”

HE went to work, and all things considered, it could have been much worse.

But it was not play, by any means.

Some stung, very sharp, and I buried my face in the pillow.

Some flicked and whispered pain.

HE sat easily, next to me on the bed.

“You’re damn lucky there’s people in this house.”  HE leaned close and hissed in my ear. “You’d have gotten the belt.”

I’d have preferred the belt. 

Some were  very bad.

When HE felt I had reached an appropriate level of remorse, HE had me please him.

And took HIS sweet time.

No orgasm for me…..

I think HE’s getting the hang of it.