Tuesday, July 28, 2015

Eric's Thoughts

With Amy down to just two weeks left in school, I've pulled the laptop away from her.  It seems like the temptation to blog is just too strong and she needs to focus on getting through this class.  I recognize the benefit of her being able to share her emotions and experiences through blogging but school needs to be the priority right now.

As Amy has shared. we are new to learning about TTWD.  We've researched it on line and have spent hours talking through the "what if's" and "how to's".  The concept appeals to both of us and we think it will give her the outlet she craves and allow me to feel like i'm an active participant in reducing her stress load.

Amy is a very strong, independent woman (pretty too!!!) who tends to go hard after everything she does.  Whatever she touches is given 100% and that is where problems can arise.  She'll pile everything on her plate until it is just overwhelming her and then she starts to crash.

In addition to raising the kids and working full time, she went back to school last year for an advanced degree.  A couple of nights of class seemed doable but she is taking a tough class right now that meets four nights a week for six weeks.  Do you see what is coming?

Last week was week four and the meltdown started.  The normally motivated girl started looking for reasons to skip class.  "It's too hard", "I'm not getting the concepts", "None of this makes sense", and "I don't want to go anymore" were just a few of the comments she made looking for me to agree with her.  Those comments merely confirmed to me that she had reached her limit and it was time for a TTWD session.

I had set up a ruse to get her home early one afternoon.  Had I been specific about what I was going to do she never would have arrived.  Amy knows what she needs to get her on the right path but she would never tell me directly. It's up to me to follow her mood and I've known her long enough to notice even the slightest changes.

After surprising her at home I quickly led her upstairs to our bedroom.  When I tried to bend her over our bed she froze.  The girl who knew deep down that a spanking would get her back to normal was suddenly scared to death of actually going through with it.  She pleaded, negotiated, and finally begged to not have to be spanked.  I knew if I gave in it wouldn't do either of us any good.  After a bit of talking I convinced her that we needed to do it.  She slowly turned and  bent over the bed as I pulled her dress up around her waist.  A black thong serving to highlight her perfect bottom.

One thing that you should know about Amy and I is that we are people who love to touch.  Whether it is standing in line at the grocery store, sitting in the car, or just out and about, we are always touching each other.  It may just be brushing shoulders or a light caress on the forearm or palm but it seems we are always connected.

Back to the bedroom......we intertwine the fingers on our left hands and she squeezes tight in anticipation of what is to come.  Our touch reassuring her that I'm there for her.

Earlier in the week Amy stopped by the store and picked up a hairbrush.  Not one to comb her hair but one she thought would be a good one to be spanked with.  It was a rectangle shape and made out of wood.  It felt sturdy in my hand and I knew it would deliver the firm swat she would need.  She had read on some of the blogs that some women dreaded the hairbrush but the idea intrigued her.

With ours left hands squeezing tightly I brought the hairbrush down firmly on her right cheek and heard a firm smack.  Although I thought I was being fairly powerful, she didn't budge a muscle.  She has a very high tolerance for pain so I came down even harder on the left cheek and still no movement.  I had told her that she was getting 13 wacks so I increased the intensity as I counted them out.  At spank number nine I paused for a moment to let her regroup a bit.  Her fingers squeezing hard told me that she was enduring it but it was hitting home.  After just a minute of two of softly messaging her bottom I finished up with the remaining spanks..

I bent down next to her face and softly told her that I loved her.  I held her arm and led her over to the bathroom sink and showed her the redness on her bottom in the large mirror.  She blushed with embarrassment but I lifted her up onto the sink so the coolness of the counter top might sooth her stinging butt. We held each other and looked at our reflection in the mirror.  You sure are a pretty girl I said as I hugged her tightly!

Being new to this I'm not sure what we did next is what is in the playbook but it felt right to us.  Instead of corner time to reflect on what we had just experienced, we felt the overwhelming need to make love which we did.

It's important to me that the spankings be done out of love and nothing else.  Amy trusts me to do what is right and that is a trust I don't ever want to violate.  Spanking her has brought me even closer to her.  There is something open and vulnerable about the act and it connects two people on a deeper level than I had even anticipated.  We are both open about what we are willing to experience with TTWD and because we have such a deep, loving connection I know that it will be mutually beneficial.

Just two weeks left in school and I know she'll be back to read all about your experiences and share ours with you.


Sunday, July 26, 2015

Motivational Phone Message

"Hi Amy, It's Eric.  It's Friday night at 6:20 and I missed my flight so I won't be home this weekend.  But I know you have a busy week coming up and you have lots of math to do.  So, I'm going to tell you I won't be able to stand over you to make sure you do the work but so help me, you had better be knuckled down this weekend. You better be sitting at that kitchen table getting all of your homework done because I don't want any excuses when I come home.  If I come home on Monday and I find out you've failed another test or that you've fooled around on the weekend and didn't get your work done, then you know what is going to happen?  It's going to be corner time and spanking time.  And this time its not going to be a mild spanking. It's going to be so harsh, you're not going to be able to sit down for an hour.  That's going to finally drive home the point to you that you need to get serious about this class. Its an integral part of your degree. We both got on this course.  I committed to you to hold you accountable and now you have to do your part because I can't be there this weekend, due to no fault of my own, you've got to have your own self discipline to be able to find that direction and when you feel yourself veering off course, pull yourself up short and sit down and refocus on getting that math done.  Okay?  I love you very much. I need you to focus this weekend.  No excuses.  Get your math done so we can have a successful week.  Alright?  I'll call you later."

It worked!  I studied all weekend.  Turned down three invites to go out and have fun.  Only left the house once - to grocery shop and handle a work emergency.  I am very confident I can get at least a C on this quiz.  Miss you!  Hurry home.  XO Amy

Friday, July 24, 2015

Round two: my second spanking

I've been granted "one blog post" before it's back to the books for 8 more class days, three quizzes, a midterm and a final.  Gosh summer school is overwhelming.  (THANK YOU for all of the comments!!!  I can't wait to be able to respond for real.  Look for me the second week of August!)

Eric works out of town a lot so I don't get to see him nearly as much as I'd like; which makes it hard to find time to practice TTWD.  Today he asked if I could be home at 11 a.m. to let the irrigation guy in the garage to fix our panel.  I took an early lunch, thinking nothing of his request, though in hindsight I realize we don't have an irrigation guy.  Anyway, when I got to the house, I found Eric standing in the living room.

"I need to see your quiz, Amy," he stated before I even had a chance to share my surprise at his being home.

If there is one thing Eric knows about me, I run from my problems so its best to catch me off guard.  He caught me today.  Didn't see it coming; even though I knew it was inevitable.

The quiz was bad.  I need a C to pass the class so we agreed, nothing below a 70% on anything. I had told Eric it wasn't pretty, but I don't think he was expecting my first "F". The professor drops the lowest score so this should go away but failing is a terrible feeling even when it isn't going to count.

"Upstairs, young lady!"  he said in a tone that left no room for discussion.

The hairbrush was laid out on the vanity and I knew he'd read my accountability fantasy.  (Darn it!)  I started to panic and sat on the bed while he stood over me, talking about taking commitment seriously, sticking with the plan and staying on top of things.  Then he told me to bend over the bed.  I was so nervous, I couldn't do it.  I froze.  I squirmed and I bartered.  I negotiated, flirted, pleaded and refused to move.  He remained very calm and waited out my little display for about 33 seconds.

"Amy Lynn."  He used my middle name.  Ugh.  "You are getting spanked 12 times, one for each point you lost on the quiz.  If you'd like more, please continue to try and talk your way out of this.  I'll just keep adding to the count."

My hands were shaking.

He said, "13" and I bent over the bed and closed my eyes tight while he pulled my dress up around my waist. Then he sat beside me and interlocked his fingers in mine.  He leaned in and whispered in my ear.  "I love you sweetheart.  I'm going to count and when I reach 13, this will be over."

For thirteen counts, I held onto one of Eric's hands while he spanked me with the other.  The hairbrush stung way more than I expected and he alternated cheeks, but the angle was such that the left side got a sharp surface level slap while the right side took a much harder wallop.  We are new to this, so I think we both were shocked that it was the lighter strike that hurt the most, but the harder one that lasted the longest.

Either way, what I remember most was squeezing his hand with every smack and feeling this incredible strength and love between us.  It was as though he was reaching inside me and evaporating all the shame and embarrassment of that stupidly bad grade, while supporting me by holding my hand.

When Eric finished, he took me in the bathroom and made me look at how red my bottom was in the mirror.  I nodded at the reflection and he pressed me up against the cool counter top.

"Does that feel good?" he asked, propping me up by the sink.  I don't know what it is about us and counter tops but next thing I knew, we were fully making love right then and there.  It was amazing - the passion! Wow!  Not exactly the "corner time" we'd always talked about but incredible to say the least.  By the time I got back to work, my ass was burning, my head was spinning and I was glowing like a beach bonfire.

Eric had a quick flight tonight and expected to be home tomorrow, but I got a message saying everything was overbooked so he won't be back until Monday.  He spelled out my weekend study regiment and left very little leeway as far as playtime, downtime, or anything other than studying time.  Eight days and five tests - he makes a good point.

I sure was glad he let me have one post.  I like blogging.  It's very therapeutic, especially when he's gone and we can't snuggle or talk at the end of the day.  At the moment, I feel very relaxed and although nothing has changed in the work/school world, it somehow seems manageable once again.  My right cheek smarts when I sit for a long period of time but I kind of like the feeling...  it's like Eric is here, reminding me why I set out to complete this class to begin with.  It feels good not to be going through it alone.  I never would have guessed the result of this afternoon would be such a peacefully calm feeling. Maybe sex after a spanking isn't supposed to be part of the process but I wouldn't change a thing about today.

Look forward to being back on this blog site!  Leave your comments so I have something fun to return to. Until then, have a great couple of weeks and be good!!

Wednesday, July 22, 2015

Amy, Amy, Amy...

It looks to me like someone should have been spending her time studying rather than blogging.

Thank you for the kind and thoughtful responses.  I'm sure Amy will have plenty to say once that quiz comes back but until then, she'll be out of "blog land" for a bit.


Tuesday, July 21, 2015

What do we do now?

Eric and I spent months talking about DD, researching it, planning it and finally on one occasion, acting it out. We've gotten some good feedback.... many of you have been doing this for years and have a much better take on the reality of it all than I do.  You don't know what you don't know.... right?

I say this because I really blew it today and I'm furious with myself.  I had a quiz and I'd spent a good amount of time over the weekend studying for it.  Last night after class, we agreed I would do one hour of homework and get to bed early.  Well, by 10 p.m., I'd gotten a clear picture of what I truly didn't know so I popped a 5 Hour Energy so I could keep going.  I practiced problems until 1:30 a.m. and then I was so brain dead, I couldn't do anymore but sleep was impossible because I was still hyped up.  I probably got 2.5 hours in and then it was off to the gym, work, kids- another jam packed day.  I was so worn out I figured the only way to keep going was to live on 5 Hour Energy shots all day.  Had one a 8, one at 12 and one at 3.  My test was at 5:30.  By that time, I was so loopy, I couldn't make sense of anything.  My hands were shaking, I couldn't think clearly, my body was jittery but my mind wouldn't focus.  I blew the quiz; needless to say.  After all that, I had studied the wrong section and couldn't even fake answers on the first half.  I'm not going to totally beat myself up over this because the teacher drops the lowest quiz score - so this will be mine.  I just need a C in the class and until tonight, I had a strong B.  I'm just mad that I now have the pressure of having to do well for the rest of the semester, am pissed that I got in that cyclical habit of pumping myself full of energy shots to keep going and then, that I crashed right before the darn quiz - not to mention having studied the wrong section.  Enough said.  We all make mistakes.  I'm letting this one go.  I got a free pass with the lowest quiz being dropped. There are 11 more classes.   I just can't screw up again.

What do I do about Eric now?  He isn't home tonight.  We talked before I went in (he doesn't know I blew it yet, though I imagine he suspects I was on a downward slide) and he said he was disappointed in my choices or some such thing and that we were going to "talk about it tomorrow".  I know that's code for "you're in trouble" but I really am mad at myself so it feels too real to play DD... not that we had set it up as play to begin with.  Does that make sense?  When we agreed to all of this, we both liked the idea and thought it would work to bring us even closer, help me through some of the pressures I put on myself and be a motivating factor in supporting my goals.  Now that I've truly screwed up, I don't want to be "held accountable".  I'm furious that I blew it.  I don't need him to tell me what I already know and I certainly don't need him to punish me for something I'm already beating myself up over.  He may not want to do anything about this anyway but if he does and I say no, then he won't think I was serious when we set this all up to begin with.  I was all in and I do see the benefits, but in this instance, I don't think it would help the situation.  I'm already mad.  I think if he tries to do anything, I'll just turn my anger on him.  It's my screw up so I want to fix it the way I want to fix it.

For those of you who are experts in this field, please tell me the best thing to do before he's home again...  I didn't even call him after the class.  Just sent a text saying I was going to bed.  :(


Saturday, July 18, 2015

Hold me accountable - the fantasy

The morning is lazy, sunlight barely creeping in through the slats of white vinyl blinds and the sweet sound of birds chirping outside.  Eric woke me over an hour ago; gentle kisses on my neck, his breath in my ear, his fingers tangling their way through my hair.

"Good morning sleepy girl," he whispers and I stretch, the night breaking free from my joints.  Muscles lengthen, a deep yawn... he leaves me to get in the shower.

I doze.

"Sweetheart." There he is again, freshly washed and smelling of ivory soap.  "I'm going to get a coffee in the plaza.  You need to hit the books."

I moan but supply a non-committal nod that awards him enough confidence in my resolve to rise, that he leaves the house.  I roll over and am out again.  Sleep, a heavenly blanket of peace.

"Amy Lynn!"  His voice rings out and I jolt awake just in time to feel the covers ripped from my body. His palm crashes down on the thin cotton seat of my pajamas and I'm suddenly upright, bolting for the opposite side of the bed.

"Ouch!" I yelp, wide eyed and looking for a place to run.

"Oh, you're up now," he points out, heading around the bed to reach me.  He grabs my arm and leads me to the corner, places my hands on the wall and drops the pants of my pj's to the floor.  His strong solid body presses up against my back so I can't move, can't even turn.  I'm stuck, heart racing with the sound of my own breath filling the empty space in the room.

"You asked me to hold you accountable," he says sternly, as though it were a school yard challenge he wasn't willing to walk away from.

"Didn't you?!" he says again, grabbing a fist full of my hair and pulling my head back just enough to get his mouth near my ear.  His voice remains calm and steady. My scalp tingles, making room in my head for my brain to expand and comprehend every word he says.

"You, young lady, are not starting this day off very well." he begins.  "It is already 11am and you can't afford to waste anytime with another test on Tuesday, a full week of work ahead of you and four nights of class."

I love this man.  I've spent the last ten years taking care of everything completely on my own and finally, someone has stepped in my life who is willing to share in the burden.  I swallow hard but my stomach fills with a sense of excitement that he is here, with me and for me.

Eric releases my hair and steps back just enough that I can no longer feel the heat from his body on mine.

"You have ten minutes in the corner," he states and his hands straighten my shoulders so I'm angled directly proportionate to the walls.

The corner smells like paint and my eyes cross when I try to look at the spot where the two walls meet.  My pajama top hangs just above the lower quarter of my bottom and I blush knowing that two white globes are peaking out from under the material.  I kick myself for losing so much of the morning and the lists of work that needs to get done scrolls through my head.  Ten minutes seems like a very long time.  I shift from one foot to the other.  I bite my lower lip, wondering if this is it or if Eric is going to do more.  I long for him to return and dread it all at the same time.  I wait.

Footsteps behind me and once again his hands are on my shoulders, gentle yet firm.

"Come with me, honey," he says and like a ballroom dance, I'm twirled away from the wall and directed down the hallway to his office.  A straight back wooden chair has been placed in the center of the room and a flat backed hairbrush is sitting on the floor next to the chair.  My palms immediately go wet and I slow my steps, not resisting but not participating either.  Eric increases the pressure on my arms and pushes me forward.  At the chair, he releases my body and sits, pulling me to my knees in front of him.

"Why are you being punished, Amy?" he asks, his face serious and his eyes unwavering.

My stomach lurches and a flight of butterflies takes off inside.  I look to the left, then the right and settle my gaze on a piece of lint on the floor.  I can't speak.

"Look at me."

It is a command.

"Look at me, Amy, and answer the question."

My eyes go steely, with a determination to go through the motions without him knowing the affect he is having on me.  We stare into each others pupils like two kids battling to see which one blinks first.  Again, I don't answer.

Time ticks by.  I set my jaw and that is Eric's cue.

"I'm only going to ask this one more time," he says as he locks each of my wrists tightly in his fingers.  "Why are you being punished?"

"I didn't get out of bed," my voice sounds small and timid.  I clear my throat and start again.  "I chose to sleep in because I have that option and that is the option I chose."  My statement brings a sense of ownership and with my gaining confidence I add, "So there!"

For a split second, it looks as though Eric is going to smile.  The corners of his mouth turn up ever so slightly but then his eyebrows rise and his lips settle back into a straight line.  I am reminded of my eyes crossing in the corner as I focus on his mouth in an attempt to appear in control.

Eric pushes one wrist away while pulling the other one forward and I find myself over his knee, my hands reaching for the floor, my legs kicking up behind me.  His arm goes around my middle and I am wrapped tightly in the crux of his body.  He catches my flailing feet with the inside of his leg and they are pinned to the ground, my bottom completely exposed.  Embarrassment attempts to plant itself in my brain but before it can take hold, Eric's hand is getting my attention with one slap over the other, one cheek over the other, as he spanks me hard enough to bring a soft pink hue to my skin.

"We are not going to have you blow this class, young lady," he scolds as my behind gets warm under the constant smacking of his hand.  "You wanted to be held accountable and you will be."  His slaps get harder with each of his words and what began as an almost sensual awakening, is becoming a stinging nest of angry bees.

The blood in my body has equally dispersed itself between my head and my rear.  In response, my back breaks out in tiny beads of sweat.  Eric sees the change and stops spanking, using his palm to rub my cheeks instead.  The nerves settle down and I start to relax.  I'm surprised when he asks, "Are you okay?"

Eric loves me.  He doesn't want to hurt me and his goal is that I am successful, not that he gets to paddle my behind.  I don't hesitate to answer, "yes" and any tension in my limbs releases as I lay across his lap like a limp noodle.  I'm so comfortable, I don't realize he's reached for the hairbrush and has it poised over my unsuspecting rear.

"You're getting ten," he states but before the meaning registers in my mind, a shot of fire blazes across my left cheek and every muscle in my body tightens. The outline of the hairbrush raises in a thin welted pattern and I yell out.  I can't believe the unrelenting sting, the flush of heat throughout my entire being and my sudden inability to breathe.  Eric holds tight and a second blow lands on the other side, equally harsh. A set of tears pops out of my eyes.

I try to get up.  His arm presses me down and a third smack returns to the left cheek.

I cry out and use all my strength to break free, pressing my legs against his thigh while pushing my hands against the floor.

Eric responds with three hard spanks, one right after the other, in the same place on my behind.  The tears are flowing faster now and I reverse my momentum by bending my knees and curling tightly around his legs turning myself into a ball.  I brace for the next round but Eric places the brush on my back and gently rubs the welt marks left by the three latest blows.  His soft touch brings on even more tears and my body unfolds as I relax into the balanced starting position we began with.

"You still have four more, Amy."  His voice is soothing, comforting; no anger or frustration apparent at all.  He continues to rub the pain away and the heat from the spanking settles deep into my cheek.

I hear an oddly familiar voice (mine) say, "Okay.  I'm ready." and his palm leaves my behind, lifts the brush and begins again.  The final four are straight forward, without pause, and I clench my teeth and count in my head the searing slap from each blow.  Immediately following number ten, I'm back on my knees, his arms wrapped tightly around my body, my face in his chest sobbing like a child.

It's 11:45 by the time I quiet down.  Eric kisses my tear stained face and helps me to my feet.  He walks me to the kitchen table and pulls out a chair, nodding for me to be seated.  My school books are spread out on the surface before me and a handful of pencils are sharpened and filling a coffee mug next to my notebook.

"Can't I put my pants back on?" I ask, a sniffle escaping at the end of the question.

"No honey," he says, motioning again for me to take a seat. "Not until your homework is done."

The cool hard texture of the chair feels good on my throbbing buns but as the temperature changes, a quiet soreness spreads and the spanking settles in the back of my mind like the music in an elevator; not the focus, but eternally present.

I shift around in the seat, unable to find a comfortable position and decide to open the book.  Eric goes back to the office and retrieves the hairbrush.  As I pour over words in the text, he begins to comb my hair in long even strokes for a period of at least ten minutes.  I feel a renewed strength and immense calm as my focus returns and I delve into the material.  Eric kisses my temple and makes the hairbrush a centerpiece for my work space.

"Just in case," he says.

Friday, July 17, 2015

TTWD; first time

Eric is out of town.
He's gone for 36 hours.
I'm sitting in our bed, blogging
with the imprint of his belt bruised across my left butt cheek.
This thing we do....

I'm Amy, the overachiever.  Three teenagers, a full time job and back in school.  This summer, I'm stuck in a class that is beyond difficult.  It has thrown us all.  I've become short tempered, barely sleep, and am plagued with headaches and leg cramps.  I have no time to breathe; miss the kids, neglect the house and snap at the littlest things.  Throughout it all, Eric has held my hand, encouraged me to continue and even added two hours to his daily commute just to walk me to class.  This has gone on for over two weeks.

Five days ago, there was a change.  It wasn't the class or the amount of things on my plate.  It wasn't my job or the time I have with the boys.  Week three, I was suddenly happier, lighter and more self assured.  I rolled with the assignments and joked about my difficulties rather than getting run over by them.  I slept better, quit yelling at everyone and all of my health issues vanished. I asked Eric if he noticed a difference.  By day three, he had a theory.

"Are you taking something?" he asked, curious but thankful for the return of his even-keeled girl.

"No," was the honest reply.  "I quit taking something."

And so the story went.  "The first day of class, I psyched myself out and rather than see how I could do on my own, I asked a guy at the gym to give me a bottle of uppers; a dietary supplement that would promote weight loss, increase energy and allow me to achieve the unachievable.  It wasn't until the third week that I realized the side effects were what was throwing me off instead of it being the stress of everything I was doing."

His reply?

"Oh my God, Girl.  You are so going to get it."

He had me on the counter, at the kitchen sink.  I was seated with my legs wrapped around his middle as he lectured about the dangers of taking a stimulant.  He went over the central nervous system, the apparent mood swings and the physical dangers of becoming dehydrated and jacked up to the point that sleep was never an option.  Then he bent me over the couch, and I heard the clink of his buckle and the flip, flap, flip as his thick weaved leather belt slipped out from under the loops on his pants.

I tried to stand.

"Eric.  It's my first time!" I exclaimed, a sudden panic that he had gone straight for the belt.

"You're going to learn this lesson quick," he said and the belt came crashing down across my denim shorts with an incredibly loud snap.  "Will this be a reminder?" he asked as the leather struck again.

I giggled.  I couldn't believe it.  The sound was so intense but the sensation was practically nonexistent.  It wasn't an insult, nor an "egging on".  It was just a simple giggle.

I'm not exactly sure how Eric did it as smoothly as he did, but my shorts were suddenly around my ankles and my torso was pressed even further over the couch.  The belt stung, no chance of another giggle.  He slapped my bare skin over and over; alternating from one cheek to the other.  Like a spray of red ants, the heat spread and grew.  At one point, I threw my hand back and covered my burning flesh.

"Move your hand, Amy," he commanded in a stern authoritative voice I had only heard when he was making an executive decision at work.  "NOW."

I complied.  I took the belting.  I took it and a moment later, I found myself led to a corner in the living room where I was ordered to stand and think about what I'd done.

Eric stepped back and watched: me.  He surveyed my bottom, stained red from the smacks of his belt.  He didn't last long.  A minute or two and he was rubbing my skin, kissing my neck and asking if I was okay. We sat on the couch and he held me so close I felt like we would never untangle.

"I love you," he said.  "I love you and I don't want you to ever take anything like that again."

The whole thing lasted less than an hour and then, he went to work. And now he's out of town.

I have one bruise.  It's on my left cheek; dark, the width of his belt.  I know he'll be surprised.  He was so careful not to hurt me.  He made his point, but he was kind.

I could have taken more.

Truthfully, I would have taken more.

This thing we do... intriguing.

Sunday, July 5, 2015

Researching DD - The TBT Remix Edition

It is throw-back Thursday! Our first post from July 5, 2015. We sure have come along way since then...

We are Eric and Amy.

I am Amy.  Strong, independent "woman" who refuses to grow up and insists on being called "girl".  I have my own home, raise my own children, hold down a full time job and go to school part time.  I make my own decisions; one of them being, my relationship with Eric.

He is Eric.  Strong, independent man who is rock solid in his career, his convictions and his personal value. He lives his own life and makes his own decisions; one of them being, his relationship with me.

We joke about the balance of power.  We met in a work setting where Eric holds the cards.  It wasn't long before we were getting together for coffee, lunch, dinner and then all three.  We clicked; intellectually, physically and in a limitless spirit of adventure.  Our friendship blossomed over a period of two years, one hour at a time.

Eric is my biggest cheerleader.  He knows how hard I work and the demands I place on myself.  He accepts me for who I am and wants to see me excel in everything I choose to take on.  Nothing I do takes away from who he is or what he is about.  There is no need for him to control me or for me to serve him.  There is mutual love and respect between the two of us and neither would have it any other way.  Yet in this dance of life, it is becoming increasingly clear that the balance of power can and should shift when one partner (that would be me) longs for a sense of accountability (to myself) and stress relief.

About three months ago, Eric and I started researching domestic discipline or "DD".  We read countless articles, stories and blogs.  We virtually got to know Clint and Chelsea, explored the therapeutic side of Ms. Aria and became intrigued by Holding 49 Percent. We are not interested in this lifestyle as a means to serve God, boost Eric's ego, or grow a submissive side to me.  Instead, we are exploring the psychological and physiological benefits of a spanking "reset".  Lets face it, men and women handle stress differently.  Men tend to need a physical release while women are desperate for a more emotional letting go; each producing natural pain and stress relieving endorphins.

My plate is too full and over the years, Eric has seen how this piling of responsibility and obligation bottles up inside me like a coke shaken on a hot summer day.  I stop sleeping, eat poorly, quit exercising and push through whatever it is I feel I must achieve. I get frustrated and short tempered, my mind whirling in so many directions I can't shut it off and then my thoughts spiral in such a flurry, I can't slow down enough to move forward.  Eventually, I crash and burn; cry for ten hours, sleep for two days and then, I'm me again.  Silly, happy, productive me.

Eric and I think a form of DD may put an end to the crash and burn by resetting my brain before I get wrapped up in an endless cycle of uncontrolled thoughts.  Our theory is, when I get overwhelmed and am running at 100% with no room to breathe, if Eric were to step in and take me over the edge (OTK, as it were) to 101%, ultimately he would hold me accountable and I could get enough of a release to drop the momentum in my head down to 50%, thus allowing me to stay focused and keep going. We believe when my brain is running a mile a minute, a sharp but loving spanking would force my mind to focus on the pain rather than everything else going on in my head.  Some tears and a little corner time in a quiet peaceful place, followed by the warm embrace of the man I love - a total reset. We've talked about it for months.  We've read about it for weeks.  We've thought about it, at least I have, for years.  Maybe someday, soon, we'll give it a try.