I haven’t felt really little in ages. RL punishment just hasn’t been a part of our relationship for a long time. But I think that’s changing. It’s weird how something so gentle and loving can regress me so much in age.
It’s my job to clean the house. That’s fair enough. And Q is usually pretty understanding. It’s a big house, after all, and at least he’s not a neat freak. But it’s nice to sweep the dead things out of the corners once in a while. The kitchen is the only area he comes down on me about. He says it’s a hygiene issue. Hygiene, shmygiene. I’m not that fussed, to be honest. I mean, I don’t understand why the floor needs to be clean enough to eat off it. Even if it IS that clean, I’m not eating off it. And anything that gets dropped on it goes straight in the bin. **sigh**
Well, he sat me down last night and asked me how long it had been since I’d cleaned the house. I could see where it was going and I got nervous. This was pretty edgy for me, believe it or not, because any RL issues we’ve had in the past have been dealt with through roleplay. This should have been a Colette scene. I mean, it’s not the nineteen-bloody-fifties. But I knew I had to let go of my independence.
He said the kitchen was in a state and he asked me what he’d said would happen if it got that way again. ‘You said you would spank me,’ I said.
‘Do you deserve it?’
So he pulled a chair out into the centre of the room and sat down. He didn’t even bother with a long lecture, but I still felt very little as he took down my pants and panties and pulled me across his lap. He didn’t spank me terribly hard, but somehow the gentleness of it made it even harder to take. I felt like a naughty little girl. But at the same time I felt safe and cared for. And when he was done he picked up the polished ebony hairbrush and gave me six hard strokes as a reminder.
He let me up then and told me to stand in the corner with my hands on my head and my bare bottom on display. I whimpered and shuffled my feet, but I obeyed. It’s hard to stand there, feeling so exposed and vulnerable, knowing he’s right behind me, watching me. And when he called me out I fell into his arms and melted into tears of contrition. My apologies were genuine and I marvelled that he’d made me feel so childlike so effortlessly.
It was scary to go back to that vulnerable emotional place, but I feel looked after and loved, not resentful. I think it marks a change in the relationship. It’s scary. But it’s comforting too. In a weird way.