It’s an unusual method to sand the floor, but inventive nonetheless.
sccwriting
Back to Basics
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. As hard as it was being in an LDR, sometimes living together is even harder. We’ve fallen so far from where we started. Not all at once, but the trouble with a slow decline is that it never seems imperative to fix the problem. Then one day you wake up, and don’t even recognize where you are.
I’m usually happy to blame myself, but the truth of any relationship is that it takes two. I’d gotten less careful and sometimes completely disrespectful, and he loved me too much to take a hard stand. There were a couple of rules I still followed, but when my daughter came to stay with us for a month or so, even those slipped quietly
away.
Our entire dynamic was founded on power exchange, and the sad truth was it was almost non-existent. We started fixing that last night.
Wolf had me look up and print out our long-ago post illustrating ten submissive commands. I even printed out hand signals, for good measure. I made dinner exactly as he liked, taking mental notes for the future.
I was wearing the union suit that he’d requested, flap down.
I sat on the floor while we ate dinner, and only got on the couch with him at his request, to watch TV. I was given the instruction “wall” more than once during the evening, and complied quickly, no questions asked.
We spent hours watching Netflix, my hand in his pants stroking him, at his request. It got late, and I began to think we’d just go to bed. As I headed towards the stairs, though, he took my hand and pulled me across his lap. He pulled the cloth of the long underwear as far away as possible, and stroked my bare bottom lightly.
“I’m giving you this because you need it. Because you’ve told me that you want it. I’m going to spank you for your rudeness last night, and because you’ve gotten away from the place where we’re both happy. I want you to show me that you remember your manners, and thank me for each stroke, and ask for the next.”
I nodded tearfully, agreeing with every word. I’d like to say that I was true to that promise, but it was too hard. He reckons he hit me about 75 times, starting with a wooden paddle, and ending with the Pex cane, which I hate. I cried like a baby, and he even offered me a break at one point, but his exact words were these:
“Do you need to stop for a while, or would you rather get your punishment out of the way?”
At that point, I would have done anything to get back to where we needed to be, so I begged him to finish. To my credit, I never asked him to stop, but I feel the cane’s legacy with every step I take. This picture was taken today - I’m a bit glad that I didn’t see what it looked like last night. He brought an ice pack to bed for me, and I’ll be sitting carefully for the next several days.
As much as it hurts, I’m glad, and I thanked him more than once. I am his property, and I am never happier than when we both demonstrate it. If it takes bruises for me to remember that I am owned, I’ll take them every day of the week.