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by Jenevieve Rose


He was already in many ways my night in shining armor—very intelligent, working on his PhD, a family guy, religious, and underlyingly dominant. And he adored me with all of his heart. Yet, the day my husband—then my boyfriend—told me of his tirades in pre-school was the day I just “knew” he was the perfect man for me.

I’m not even sure, exactly, how the story came about. Perhaps we were chatting about growing up, or how far we’d come since our days spent learning to tie our shoes and not eat the gloppy glue paste our teachers insisted we use in art projects. In any case, Adam laughed, recalling that instead of pushing cars around or making paper airplanes with the other boys, he took turns playing “husband” with the girls, who took would cooking him pretend meals in the plastic-décor  kitchen. He’d even gotten in trouble once, he said, because he’d slapped a girl’s butt and called her “tootse.” I was in love!

You see, I’d always had a little kink, which is revealed to very few: I like to be spanked. However, previous experience had taught me that good guys didn’t hit women, and if I asked a guy to give me a spanking, they would first laugh, and then, realizing that I was serious, become quite uncomfortable. Those relationships—as few and far between as they were—never lasted long.

When I told Adam of my spanking interest and convictions, he didn’t draw away or laugh one of those nervous guffaws. He gave a short intake of breath, which I was scared would usher in the aforementioned events, but to my utter surprise, said, “Well, I hadn’t really thought about it before, but I agree.” After that, I just spilled everything out to him, about how I’d had a fascination with spanking ever since I was young and had seen a spanking scene on Little House on the Prairie. How as a teen, I would go to bed at night, dreaming of being spanked. And how, later in years, had read umpteen spanking stories and blogs on the internet. I told him of my past experiences, in which he sympathized with me. He understood my struggle, for I was a strong, capable, independent woman who had come through many difficult life circumstances on my own. I had a good heart with lots of compassion for people. But I was also stubborn to a fault and, quite often, a brat who wanted—no, needed—a strong man to take me over his knee on occasion.

During my self-revelation, Adam just kept nodding. Later, he would tell me, “I couldn’t believe that any woman would seek real discipline, but I’m glad you opened my eyes to it all.” We were married that next spring, and one of first wedding gifts to each other was a handsome burgundy leather strap.

We’ve now been married for over two, and our marriage is neo-traditional, but perfect in all the right ways for us. I have a husband who loves to clean—sometimes I have to even drag him out of the cleaning isle of the grocery store—and whose favorite gadget is the swiffer. Adam does the majority of the dishes, helps me with laundry, and even cleans the bathroom, whereas my duties are to dust, vacuum, grocery shop, and cook. He loves to give me backrubs and cuddle. Yet, despite all of this, in our house, his word is law. If I misbehave, or I knowingly go against his instructions, or if a four-letter word escapes my mouth, I can expect to find myself with a very sore bottom in short order!

For someone newly convicted about spanking, he’s an exceptionally quick learner! As soon as I’ve misbehaved, he’ll give me “that” look, often accompanied by “Go to the bedroom; I’ll be in there in a minute.” Pleading only begets a darker look, and so I begrudgingly stalk off to our bedroom to lay on the bed with my panties pulled down around my thighs. When his footsteps sound in the hallway, my stomach always sinks. Then the door opens, and I hear rummaging in our armoire for the strap. Those seconds are like hours to me! Then, Adam sits down on the edge of the bed, and we have a little chat. That chat usually involves light scolding from him and then a caving in and acknowledgement of my wrong doing on my part. Only then does the real fun begin.

Sometimes my husband spanks me over his knee, but more often these days, his favorite position is for me to lay in the middle of our bed, draped over a pillow. This gives him good leverage, he says, to give the perfect stinging swat. At times, he starts with a warm-up with his hand, tanning my pert bum a light pink. Other times, mostly if I have been especially naughty, the warm up consists of slightly milder strokes with the strap. However, the lashes always begin slowly and deliberately, and often interjected with more lecturing. By the time I am sure my bum is roasted and thoroughly red, and am begging for it to end, I learn, to my dismay, that the spanking hasn’t even begun. A series of lashes try my willpower, but I grit my teeth and take them, trying to prove that I am a strong woman who will not be overcome. Then, little by little, I begin to think about my behaviour, and how it has indeed overcome me through lack of self-restraint. And the lashes that fall from henceforth are accepted and cherished, because they are those of love. They mean that a wonderful man is there to help me become a better woman, the woman I was meant to be. Accepting this chastisement always renders me quiet, and the smacks of leather drown out all other thoughts even as they absolve me of my transgression. When the spanking is over, my husband holds me close as we several minutes in a blissful peace. Whether or not lovemaking follows, I am always made to feel cherished of my beloved, and our bond is deepened. Indeed, I am one of the luckiest women on earth.

This is just one aspect of our life together, my husband and I. We are certainly not perfect, but we are perfect for one another. Our marriage is strong and mutually encouraging. We have rules, limits, and goals. We are an odd mix of traditional, contemporary, and sometimes just plain crazy. Yet our relationship is strengthened by our faith and our commitment to each other, and it is re-enforced by my husband’s tough love.

I am truly one very blessed, very well-spanked woman.