Hello all. Welcome back to The Forum. Our weekly gathering of men and women who are in, or would like to be in, Domestic Discipline or Female Led Relationships. I hope you had a good week.
Mine was painful. But, for once, not because of self-inflicted damage. Well, not directly anyway. I managed to make it through an entire week without having too many drinks at happy hour, getting into a tiff with someone at work, or any of the myriad other things that usually leave me feeling dead tired and drained of all energy by Saturday morning. Instead, I didn't drink alcohol at all, worked out five days consecutively, was reasonably well-behaved and productive at work, did all my chores around the house each day, and didn't break any rules with one small and unintentional exception. So, how did this wondrous transformation come about? Simple -- multiple spankings, in combination with being grounded.
I've intentionally avoided focusing a lot on personal disciplinary anecdotes on this blog, but I don't have any other topic in mind this week, plus the last week's events really have been on my mind a lot. So, this week in lieu of an actual topic, I will share the story of how I got into trouble and the consequences that resulted, and folks can react to it as they like.
I knew in advance that last week had the potential to be challenging. I really have been trying to take better care of myself, and I went into the week with a conscious goal of staying out of trouble. But, I knew it would be hard. We had back-to-back social events at work, where bonding over cocktails is the norm. The first night was a small and limited affair, and though I went into it with the goal of keeping the drinking down to a minimum, the night dragged on longer than expected, so more rounds were ordered, and before I knew it, I was getting home at midnight. The next night was even worse, though maybe even less intentionally so. We had a gathering of colleagues that was billed as a dinner, but it was more like a long happy hour with an open bar, with the only food consisting of light appetizers, liberally interspersed with caterers offering trays laded with full glasses of wine. At some point, you would think I would learn that wine on an empty stomach is a big "no no" for me. It goes to my head way too fast, and before I know it I've forgotten all about trying to moderate. Worse, after the "dinner" was over, several visiting colleagues wanted a nightcap, so off we went. The result being a 1:00 am arrival time at home.
The next day was worthless in terms of getting any actual work done, which wasn't bad in and of itself because I didn't really have that much to do anyway. That's one offsetting advantage to late nights with colleagues -- they are probably just as tired and hungover as you, so no one is really generating work for anyone else. Anyway, as I was already feeling my usual post-binge need for accountability, I spent a good part of the day surfing for DD or spanking-related stories. Without going into details, one involved the recipient getting one spanking for a major act of irresponsibility, but under circumstances that would usually result in a second, harder spanking from another family member. Instead of trying to get out of the second one, he essentially requests it and asks that it be harder than what he has gotten before, because he knows he has screwed up and genuinely wants to wipe the slate clean. They agree he will get a hard hairbrush spanking that by itself will leave him sobbing, followed by a long, hard strapping with a belt. And, that is what happens.
Inspired by such tales of consequences requested and imposed, and feeling a genuinely overwhelming need to really be held accountable, I sent my wife a journal entry reminding her that our official "rule" has always been that drinking too much is one offense, and driving home is another, each meriting a separate spanking. But, though it has been a rule, it has never really been enforced. Therefore, although I was asking her to enforce that rule, I had no way of really knowing how bad that would be. But, I also felt like I needed to find out. Not because I wanted that much pain, but because I did screw up, I've done it repeatedly and, if this is all real and not just some kinky game, then I need a punishment that reflects what I did and makes me not do it again. In other words, it needs to be hard enough to get the job done.
Part of me knew what I was asking for, though not really. If it was done the way it needed to be, I would be left regretting having asked her to do this. I know it's paradoxical. I wanted something that I knew I was not going to want. But, I need the punishment for very bad behavior to, in fact, be very bad. I need it to be not just at the limits of my ability to take, but beyond. In an ideal world, it would leave me a crying, sobbing mess after spanking #1, and I should be quaking in fear before spanking #2. I earned something that bad, and we had agreed that I needed to get the kind of discipline that I have earned, so that the behavior is not repeated.
Although she didn't formally communicate that she agreed to subject me to the sort of discipline I was suggesting, she clearly had it in mind. Her demeanor on Saturday was all business. Finally, after being on pins and needles all day, I was sitting at the kitchen table around 8:00 pm getting some work done and she was in our bedroom also doing some work, when she sent me a text telling me to shut everything down and come upstairs. I turned off my computer, put everything away and locked up, then went upstairs, where she was on the bed working on her laptop. I stood beside the bed, waiting for her instructions. She left me standing there in silence for several minutes, not even really acknowledging my presence. She then asked me a series of questions about whether I had locked up downstairs and put everything away. I couldn't remember whether I had done one particular task (probably because I was so nervous about what was about to happen). So, she commanded me to go back down and make sure it had been done. I trudged back downstairs, then back up to the bedroom, taking my place at her side again as she continued to work. After again leaving me standing there in silence for several minutes, and again without looking up from her laptop, she began to lecture:
"You know what is going to happen, right?"
[pause - continuing to read without looking up]
"Are you nervous?"
"Good. You should be, since you are going to be getting two very hard spankings."
[still not looking up]
"OK. Get everything set up."
I complied immediately, not wanting to make it worse. Most of our spankings these days have migrated from the basement to our bedroom, and occur with me draped over a large leather ottoman. I moved it to the center of the room, and retrieved her tools, including some new leather straps I bought after we decided the rubber ones were doing too much damage.
When I was finished, she got up from the bed and went into the bathroom, instructing me to get undressed and wait for her.
During all this, every time she instructed me to do something and I replied with "Yes, ma'am," there was a definite catch in my voice, like I was on the verge of tears and at risk of sobbing before the spanking even started. That hasn't happened before. I don't know whether it was knowing how bad it was likely to be, or the emotion involved in approaching her and asking for a spanking that I knew was going to be really bad, or feeling more remorseful than usual, or some combination of all those. But, something was definitely different. It was so hard asking her to deliver something I knew was going to be so hard to take, but I knew I deserved it. That emotional vulnerability is part of the process I know I need. Humbling me and making me more open to being corrected. The fact that the humbling seemed to be taking effect even before the first swat seemed like a good sign that I might finally actually cry during the spanking.
When she returned from the bathroom, she gave me a very strong lecture about how irresponsible I had been. It went on for probably three or four minutes. She then commanded me to get into position.
I took my place on the ottoman, as she chose the implement she wished to start with. I had thought that after our recent discussions about how starting with really severe tools at full force frustrated my ability to get into a submissive mindset, she might do more of a warmup. Nope. She began with the heaviest of the new straps, and in terms of pain-producing power, it proved to be every bit the equal of the heavy rubber one for which it was a substitute. She gave me around 20 licks with it, and I was not just gasping or moaning. I was yelling out, almost screeching, with each strike. I wouldn't be at all surprised if the neighbors overheard. Unfortunately, it also resulted in me going into full-blown "man up" mode, and I could never get back to that point of accepting what I had coming from a standpoint of hating the spanking but wanting the correction. Instead, I just wanted to get through it. Though, even in that state, there were moments when it hurt so badly that I came close to bursting into tears, though as always . . . not quite. She eventually switched to somewhate milder leather straps, but they still hurt a lot, and she finished with 40 to 50 very hard swats with some mixture of wooden paddles and the bath brush.
After it was over, she informed me I would be getting a similar one the next night.
I was incredibly sore the next day, and spent quite a bit of it sitting on an ice pack. For those who don't believe a disciplinary spanking can leave you not wanting to sit the next day, you obviously have never had a real one. And, all through the day I got to think about the second round coming that night. But, I still felt like I really deserved this, so when the butterflies would start flying around in my stomach I told myself: "I can't imagine what it is going to be be like. But, I deserve this. I even literally asked for it. So, I am going to try to prepare myself all day NOT to take it like a man and to accept her discipline as the proper consequences for what I did." I sent her a journal entry thanking her for last night, but making the point about how no warm-up and early severity is likely to work against breaking me down emotionally. But, I told myself that regardless of the kind of spanking she decided to give me, I needed to be prepared to take it, and I needed to start it in the same mindset I began in last night -- humble, submissive, and open to crying.
Well, best laid plans . . . We ended up having guests the next night, and by the time they left my wife was tired and decided to postpone for a day. So, another day of sitting on an already sore bottom knowing it was going to get a lot sorer. And this time I had to be at work all day, with thoughts of what was coming that night regularly interrupting my flow. There has been a time or two when she has announced a spanking almost out of the blue, and my heart would jump up into my throat. But, I do think the long hours of anticipation are worse and kept me even more on edge. When I am waiting at home for one, I am so at her mercy that there is almost a sense of resignation. But, being at work all day, knowing one is coming that night, possibly as soon as I walk in the door, creates this uncomfortable and distracting back and forth between my normal routine and thoughts about what I know I will be going through when I get home. It seems also to make me even more complicit in my own punishment, as I have some control about how late to stay, how long to take driving home, etc.
I arrived home around 7:00. She didn't say anything about her plans, and I didn't ask. Even though I had asked for all this, including specifically for this second spanking, part of me definitely hoped she would get distracted and we would, once again, run out the clock before she got to it. No such luck. At about 8:15, she came out of her office and said simply, "You have about 5 minutes to put away whatever you are working on, then go upstairs and get ready for your second spanking."
"Yes, Ma'am," I replied, resigned to take my medicine as best I could.
I again set up the ottoman and laid out her tools, then stripped naked. As I waited for her to come up to the room, I stood silently, very scared of how bad it was going to hurt, but telling myself that however much it did, I had earned it and could easily have avoided it.
She entered the room and was, once again, all business. I wasn't sure whether she would lecture this time, since she had done it thoroughly and on this same topic two nights before. But, she did, this time emphasizing that although I would have gotten one spanking for drinking too much regardless, I could have avoided this second one simply by taking a cab home or getting a hotel room close to work. When she had said her piece, without a hint of hesitation or reluctance to do what needed to be done she told me tersely, "OK, get into position and get prepared. This one is going to be bad."
Even after my journal entry letter her know that no warm up was probably counterproductive in terms of getting me to really surrender, she laid into me hard from the outset. In fact, though she switched implements three or four times, she skipped the straps entirely and used the wooden paddles and the bath brush throughout. I didn't cry, but it was agony. She seemed to be trying out some new techniques, too. She usually delivers volleys of 10 or 15 in a row, then switches sides to deliver another 10 or 15. This time, she gave two or three really hard swats, then paused for several seconds, then another two or three. Over and over again. This prevented a lot of the numbing that sometimes happens with the wooden paddles. And, no matter, how much I yelled and screeched with each swat, they just kept coming. There were, like the previous session, times when an individual swat was so hard that I almost burst into tears. But, I still couldn't quite do it and, unfortunately, I was again in that "just get through it" mindset. In fact, part of me definitely resented that she hadn't taken my advice to heart about what would get me to that point of full surrender. But, I think the simple answer is that getting me to that point of catharsis was not her goal for these spankings. I had been genuinely irresponsible in a major way, and these spankings were meant to punish, pure and simple. She wanted them to be as painful as they could be, and if that meant I didn't cry or get any kind of emotional release, that was fine with her as long as the real message was delivered.
When it was over, she was not quite finished letting me know my world had changed.
"If you do anything else this week -- any breaking of the rules at all -- you will get spanked again regardless of how sore you may already be from these two spankings. Do you you understand?"
"You are not to drink any alcohol at all this week. I don't care if there are a dozen work-related events requiring handing out with colleagues or potential business contacts, you are not to drink. Got it?"
"Good, because if I have to spank you again this week, god help you."
"You also are grounded. You are to come straight home from work every day. Particularly on Friday. No happy hour with the team. That seems to be what often gets you into trouble, so we'll just remove that temptation. Understood?"
"OK. Go get ready for bed."
I gathered my clothes and made my way to the bathroom to get ready for bed, as instructed. My legs were shaking so badly and my bottom so hurting to its core that I could barely manage to get up and walk. Itt is difficult to even describe how much my bottom ached. I slept on my stomach most of the night, and even the sheet hurt as it moved over my bottom from time to time during the night. Oddly, I expected my butt to be a bruised mess the next day, but it wasn't actually any worse than after the first spanking, and the residual pain wasn't really any worse either. I have no way of explaining that. One noticeable difference from a normal spanking, however, is that I am now five days post-spanking, and definitely still feeling noticeable pain when I sit down. Usually, the pain goes away after one or two days, even if I still have some marks. And, the marks are not fading fast, which created its own more lingering form of punishment this week. I worked out in the gym every morning, and every morning I had to put a towel on over my gym shorts before putting them on and taking them off, and I had to leave the towel in place as I pulled on my underwear and pants after my shower, because the bruises would have been visible from many feet away.
Well, that is a lot of writing for one posting, And, without any real topic attached to it, I will just invite you to comment on any aspect that catches your attention or that you think merits some discussion. I'm also happy to try to answer any questions you may have.
I hope you all have a great week. If you are new to this group, please stop by the Guestbook (tab above) and tell us a little about your Domestic Discipline or FLR lifestyle or aspirations.