So I’m not sure what got me thinking about this, but I seem to remember jotting down this title the morning after punishment with the belt. I don’t really like the belt. Not much at all. It hurts, and not in the way I like. The thud of a flogger, love it. The sting of bamboo, love it. The smack of a hand, well, you get the picture. But the belt… fuck, I don’t really know, but it makes me want to punch the bed and scramble away and cry and scream and curse at Sir for making it hurt so bad when I damn well know that he can make it hurt soo0 much more.

This is a pic of the last time the belt was used. About an hour afterwards, after I had the shit fucked out of me...

This is a pic of the last time the belt was used. About an hour afterwards, after I had the shit fucked out of me…

So, yeah, I don’t like the belt.

And M respects that, and doesn’t pull it out during play time. But if I fuck up, and fuck up bad, it’s what gets used. And never too many, this time particularly it was 10. And I remember this fight vividly, as it was a long one, that went well into the night. During a lull in our arguing, I told M he should beat me, that it would make him feel better. But the good Sir that he is, he didn’t. He was angry and knew it and therefore wouldn’t punish me in anger.

But, because he IS a good Sir, he also knew that I would need punished for my transgressions.  So the next day after work, while the kiddos were gone, I was told to go upstairs and get ready. Bending over the bed with my skirt pulled up around my waist, and my panties pulled down to my knees, I gnawed on my bottom lip waiting for the first swing. And by the time the tenth one came down, I scrambled to the top of the bed, whining “Fuck Daddy, that hurt!!”

But then he made me feel all better…

But, some of you may ask, why do we engage in this? Why would I intentionally lay across my bed, naked ass in the air, to get hit with a belt in an activity I don’t enjoy?

Well, it’s so we can move forward. When punishment is in place, it’s sort of like the final wrap up to everything that occurred: we argued, we fought, we made up, punishment happened. Now it’s over. It will not be brought up again in the middle of another argument. It will not be thrown in each other’s face later in time. The deed was done. The consequences suffered. Now it’s dead and buried.

That’s why I, rather we, partake in punishment. Because it gives us an ending point, a way to move forward through the muck and find our way back together. Previous to our dynamic, there were issues and actions that would be drug up and thrown at each other when we were heated from years (and I mean many years) past. Sometimes it would seem like we were just having the same fight over and over again, with only a few words or the setting changed. But punishment has moved us forward out of that downward spiral.

Now, after punishment, the only thing left is perhaps a small red welt, that like the fight, fades with time.

That, my friends, is why I will bend over and take what is given to me, no matter if it makes me want to yell and scream and cry. Because the brief moment of pain  is well worth the ability to let something go.

It’s kind of like a healing balm to our relationship… Hope that makes some sense to someone…