It was a very difficult week here in America, I think. I knew a lot of people who were hurt. Several reached out to me. Many I knew were angry with one another (and still are).
I stayed out of the fray myself, but by Wednesday night, I was pretty wound up. Jason came home and I muttered under my breath something like, “why don’t these kids throw the damn trash in the barrel instead of beside the barrel?” I was getting snappy and irritable.
He merely did the one-eyebrow raise thing, crooked a finger, and took me in the bedroom. I went a bit reluctantly, because I knew what was coming. Jason and I know each other really well. He knew I was wound up, I know what he does when I’m getting close to the edge, and he was pretty stern-looking. He shut and locked the door, wasted no time in sitting on the edge of the bed, and drew me straight across his knee. Then off came the belt.
The belt is so sexy-scary for me. The jingle, the whoosh, it’s wrapped around his waist and such an icon of discipline… well, off it came. He doubled it over, bared me, and gave me a few really good smacks. Naturally, I protested. It went something like this.
“What did I do? I didn’t break any rules! Oooow!”
“Nope. You didn’t break any rules. And I’m not punishing you. What I am doing is reminding you what happens if you do break a rule, and you’re getting awfully close there.”
A few swats later, and I was subdued and in my submissive place.