The Golden Rule - er

When Sam and I travel, we occasionally enjoy visiting the odd antique store.  We usually aren't looking for any big pieces, but it's fun to comb through old books, tools, miscellaneous chotchke, and nondescript junk.  I like to find unique gifts this way, too.  Especially ones for someone who collects a certain item.  
   

In December, we took a short trip to a mountain resort town.  We have visited this same spot often but always in the summer for fishing.  Winter is ski season in the area.  Some days were warmer than others, but on the colder ones, we probably spent more time in the shops and restaurants than usual.  

There is a used book shop in this town that we love no matter the season.  The shop is located in a big, old house.  There is room after room of books on shelves and perilously stacked on the floor.  The owner is quite the character.  Sam says you could nicely describe him as a "crusty old guy."  I laughed because I have heard Sam described the same way!  We pored through the dusty shelves for almost 2 hours.  Sam found several thick history books that we dropped off at our hotel before resuming our travels.

The temperature was frigid the day we decided to drive along a more rural highway to reach an antique store we knew.  This was also located in a huge, old house along with several outbuildings that contained some really cool farm equipment and large rustic metal tools.  For a time we stayed together and talked about some of the interesting things we saw.  Soon, though, we drifted apart as we explored each room.  I found an old book that I knew would be appreciated by a friend and also a ceramic Virgin Mary figurine for my daughter-in-law's collection.  That actually finished my Christmas shopping, so I was feeling quite good.  

It was a weekday, and the shop was not crowded.  I glanced up as Sam came into the room where I was.  He was smiling and rapping something on the palm of his hand.  When he came closer, I could see that it was a type of large ruler.


"I have been looking for one of these.  It's an old 18 inch ruler," he told me.  And with that, he whacked me on the bottom.  Although the ruler made quite a noise connecting, there was no one else close enough to hear.

"Holy hell, Sam!  That hurt right through my jeans!  Are you buying that thing?" I asked.

"You bet I am," he grinned.

"Can it just be for play?"

"We'll see.  Be sure to listen to me, and you won't have to find out." 


Point taken.  He waved it around a bit when we returned to the hotel and popped me on the bum a few more times.  Then it went into the stack of Christmas things we had purchased.  When we unpacked from our long weekend, the ruler was added to the stash in Sam's bottom drawer.


As the holidays approached, I decided that I needed to do better than last year with my sugar consumption.  About five pounds better, in fact.  As always, unless I ask my guy

for help with my food choices, Sam could care less what I eat.  When we discussed my request, we decided that the sugar rule this year was to be that I had none unless Sam put it in my hand.  I kissed my handsome diet coach and agreed to abide by the new rule.



Gosh, I surely do love to bake, especially at Christmas.  I made all the family favorites and more this year.  Not once did I eat a cookie warm from the oven, since Sam was not there to give me one.  I didn't even lick the spoon.  After they were all tucked into tins, Sam would bring me just one cookie while I relaxed with my Kindle in the evening.  Over the days before the 25th, I tried them all and never cheated.

Christmas Day is a buffet at our house.  Everyone brings a dish, and there are lots of yummy things to graze on while Sam finishes the main course.  My cookies were on the table as well.  It makes me quite happy to have our friends and family dig into the tins and enjoy all my efforts.


 

Did not even think of eating my cookies.  I knew there was a chocolate peppermint pie for later.  It wasn't until my sweet niece and her family arrived that temptation knocked at the door.  She added another tin of cookies to the table and announced that she had used her Grandma Beth's recipe.  That's when the little sugar devil on my shoulder started talking in my ear.  Surely I didn't want to hurt her feelings?  Just one.  Just to be polite.  I would talk to Sam later.  He was busy right now.


Maybe that would have been OK, but the devil had settled in and planned to stay for the day.  As I flitted about making sure everyone had drinks filled, opening more presents, playing with the baby, and helping Sam where I could, I would filch another cookie.  Lost track of how many, but it had to be at least 8.  Um, maybe 10.  And, yes, I had the pie, too.

 
It wasn't until hours later that my conscience started to prick at me.  We were both dead tired, and Sam was spooning me in bed.  We talked back and forth about the day.  It really had been a wonderful time.

"And you've done so well avoiding the sugar," Sam said as he kissed the back of my neck.

Oh, shit, I thought, I really need to fess up.

"Sam, I....did cheat a little today," I whispered.

"Did you have a cookie?" he asked.

"Well...," I mumbled, stalling a bit.

"How many?" and his voice had deepened.

"Um.... about 8, I think."

I could hear his disappointment when he said, "Ell...a?  Why didn't you ask me for help?"

"Don't know," I said.  "I was doing fine and then...."

"We'll talk about this in the morning.  Get some sleep."

Sam slept in the next morning, but I got up early and spent over an hour cleaning up the holiday devastation.  I had just finished and had poured another cup of coffee to sit by the fireplace and start some thank you notes.  My guy does not usually do anything before his coffee, but suddenly he was in the doorway.

"Let's get this settled, Ella.  Come with me."  He had not forgotten.

I was standing by the bed and saw Sam take that old ruler out of the bottom drawer.

"Sam, you said that thing would only be for play," I pleaded.

"No, you said that, Ells."

Over the bed I went, and that ruler was the meanest thing west of the Pecos!  OMG.  I was making so much noise as Sam spanked and talked.  He went on about keeping my word and asking him for help.  He talked about how I needed to obey him.  I did scream once as that nasty thing hit its mark.  Sam lightened up a bit but didn't stop right then.  He gave me some stern diet coach advice and reminded me of the rule upon which we had both agreed.  When he was finally finished, I just lay there for a few more moments.  Then Sam pulled me up for a most amazing kiss.

"See, Ells, if you break the Golden Rule around here, I might just use the golden ruler," he said while he patted my bottom.

"The Golden Rule? I questioned.  "You mean like "Do unto oth-" 

And he interrupted me, "No, my Golden Rule."

"So, what is your Golden Rule?" I asked and looked into his eyes.

                              He smiled and then held me close, 
                         "My Golden Rule is anything I say it is."

     And that's the true meaning of that old adage according to Sam. 

Just Shy of a Baker's Dozen

Baker wrote a set of very interesting questions.  It was somewhat like a meme, but the questions were directed toward bloggers who had spanking relationships or fantasies.  It was, however, easy enough for any reader to respond to just one of the questions in the comment section.  Clever girl, that Baker.

1.  Are you an introvert or extrovert or somewhere in between?  What about your HOH?

Think I would be somewhere in between.  When I am in a new group of people, I take my time.  Listen and watch.  Then I will enter the circle slowly.  Once I am at ease, though, I am anything but shy.  However, I never really consider myself among friends unless it feels comfortable to be silent, too.

Sam is much more social than he used to be, thanks to his awesome wife.  He is still happier in a small group than in a large one of new people.

2.  At what age did you realize that spanking was something you were into, and at what length did you go to hide it?  Did your HOH know?  For those of you who began your marriage with spanking, do you think anything from your childhood helped you to be more accepting of the spanking lifestyle?

Don't really have many memories before I became cognizant that
there was something that drew me to spanking.  Perhaps I was 4 or 5 years old.  I never told a soul, as a child or an adult.  Finally told Sam about 5 years ago.  Late bloomer, I guess, but we are making up for lost time.

3.  Do you know anyone else in your family who practices DD, TTWD, etc.?  And how did you come to learn that they did?

No, I do not have any family or friends that have ever given any indication that they have the same kind of relationship as Sam and I do.  We know several couples, however, whose marriages would be greatly improved by the practice. 


4.  Are you a homebody or outgoing?  To me this is different than being an introvert or extrovert.  You can be an introvert and still love to go to museums or a ball game.  You can also be an extrovert and love to just have people over and entertain in your home rather than going elsewhere.

At first this question confused me because, to me, "outgoing" means friendly and warm and sociable.  I think, in this instance, Baker intends for it to mean someone who is fond of going on outings or traveling. 


Again, I would have to say, "somewhere in between."  I am perfectly happy staying at home.  Music turned way up for chores.

Baking or writing or a "project."  Coffee and exercising.  Up early and out in my garden just after the sun is up.

But I love, love, love to plan a trip or outing!  By road or air.  Near or far.  Just for the day or several weeks.  I even like the packing.  

5.  How do you view blogging?  Is it an outlet?  A way you process?

My view of blogging has certainly evolved.  Meredith was my mentor here and encouraged me to start writing.  She was actually the 2nd person in the whole world who knew the real me and my feelings about spanking.  Blogging back then was a very big step toward discovering other women like me.  I guess it still is.

It has become a very creative outlet.  I have always loved writing, and blogging has given it a purpose.  One thing that I didn't expect was the growth and clarity it has given to our ttwd relationship.  Without the blogging, I think I might stagnate.  We have to reinvent ttwd all the time to fit who we are and what life gives us.

6.  What tendencies do you see in your DD or TTWD friends and bloggers?  Warning - this one may be sensitive to answer.  I am in no way trying to criticize .  These are simply observations or things that may be similarities between us.

Gosh, I really love this question.  And I have loved reading other bloggers' responses, too.  I don't think I disagree with anyone so far.  I do see strong women who meet life with hard work and a special devotion to their family.  Certainly, the women I know are private as far as what is revealed on the web.  That is just common sense, as far as I am concerned.  

I see women who have secure and strong marriages.  Educated and quite literate.  They have great love for their husbands, but I think, whether they knew it or not, they were searching for more intimacy with their man.  Not just sex, although that is an essential piece of the puzzle.  More like a connection of the soul.  Deep down there is a part of each woman I know that wants to be cherished and cared for.  I don't really know if ttwd is the only way for that to happen, but for me and others, I think, it was the road to fulfillment.

  

7.  Are you a love of the printed word?

Oh my, yes.  My father used to read regular "grown-up" books to me as a child.  The stories of O'Henry were one of my favorites.  I could read chapter books by the time I was six.  I was an English major as well as an education major.  I worked very hard in my teaching years to gift the love of reading to my kids.  If anything, I love Shakespeare more now than I did when I was 18 years old.  No snootiness at all, though!  I have embraced spanking fiction with a passion.  Sunny was an author I enjoyed before I ever blogged.  

8.  Do you view yourself as a submissive?  

Oh, this is a difficult one to answer.  I try so hard, and I think Sam would say that, once in a while, I succeed.  I think he is happy that I strive to be the best I can be for him.  It makes me feel better that when I slip up, Sam is there to straighten me out.  

I am a person that was used to saying, "Yes, sir," and, "Yes, ma'am," long before ttwd.  It did not come from my childhood, but something I observed in a classroom that I greatly admired.  I always spoke to my students that way, and, very soon, the kids spoke the same way.  True respect is always earned, not required.  I naturally speak that way to Sam now.  My "mister" always deserves my respect.

9.  Last question.  What traits do you see in your HOH that help you follow his lead?

You know, Sam has really grown into his role as HOH.  He was not at all sure about ttwd at first.  In fact, I should repeat that he absolutely hates the term, "HOH."  Thinks that "Head of the Household" sounds like something a census taker would say.  He may not like the name, but he has definitely become the leader in our life together.  When I forget, he has a look and maybe a quick swat to remind me that he knows how to cook pasta as well as I do.  

The most important traits have to be his intelligence and the love he shows me every day.  I have always felt that ttwd helped Sam to embrace being male and for me to embrace being female.  We feel so much more in tune to who we really are.  I would follow him anywhere.   

Thanks for the fun, Baker!

To Err on the Side of Love

It took me a very long time to finally write this post.  I was truly ashamed of something I said to Sam, and I wasn't sure I was brave enough to honestly tell you all what happened.  Then there was a powerful post that Mere wrote a while ago that made me think about the honesty thing.  Sam and I were past it, but I realized that there was a lesson I needed to remember and a reason to put it down in words.  
                                                          Ella is so far from perfect. 


Things had been smooth around Sam and Ella's house.  My medical issues were under control, and I was feeling quite spunky again.  Sam took such good care of me.  For so long the only thing that kept his spanking hand busy was for me to get depressed or silent.  Other than that, I was pretty much free to get as mouthy as I wanted.


Most of the sassiness was just silly, funny stuff that made us both laugh.  For a time, Sam was just so happy I was feeling better that he overlooked a lot of wise ass comments, some bossiness, and even minor snarkiness.  He would just hug me to him and say,
 

                           "I am so glad to have you well again.  
                You make me so happy.  I love you, pretty lady."

                                   "I love you, too, mister."

I had a lot of time on my hands.  First, I retired and then ended up confined to the house instead of on vacation.  Major cleaning was always part of my plan for when I stopped working.  I was a woman with a mission.  Although I am a very tidy person, it had been years since I had had the time to go through drawers, cabinets, closets, bins, shelves, and pantries.  I knew that there would be so much to clean, discard, donate, and reorganize.


Good god, I even went to the Container Store and put all the spanking implements and sex toys in little bins and baskets.  Paddles in this shoe bin, vibrators in that clear one, and canes and straps in the skinny, longish tray.  Saint Azotaina, patron saint of spanking, gave it all her blessing.

If they only knew how true this was.

Where things started to go south around here was when I moved my Clean & Purge Campaign to the garage.  You have heard me talk of all Sam's qualities, and you may also remember that he is not tidy.  I think the last time Sam cleaned his garage, everyone was speculating on who killed J.R. Ewing on the Dallas television series.

Sam can build a beautiful desk or a garden trellis.  He can repair a chair leg or the toilet or the garage door.  But my guy cannot clean up when he is done.  So, together we set out to slay the dragon, and it was a formidable foe.  Sam would have rather let the dragon lie, but here is where Ella got really bossy.

• "It's time, Sam.  
• We need to clean this garage.  
• Yes, we have to!  
• We'll do it together and just a little bit at a time.  
• It'll be OK, you'll see."

He growled and complained, but we began.  Surly was his middle name and bossy was mine.  Not a good combination.

• Well, you're not going to keep that, are you?
• Oh, for god's sake, Sam.  What the hell is this?
• If you would just stack those boxes like this, you would have so much more room.
• Don't put that back on the shelf; I need to clean it.
• Here, put this in the drawer with the wrenchy things.

The bossiness took on epic proportions, and for a while I rationalized it by telling myself this job needed to be done.  If Sam wasn't so sloppy, then this whole business would not have been necessary.  But I began to hate myself and the things I said.  What's more, I began to resent that Sam didn't set things straight.  The balance in our relationship was way off.
  

"I guess he does not care.  Perhaps ttwd does not apply if we are in the garage," I thought.  It had been one hell of a long time since there had been any serious spanking to rein in my bossiness.  In fact, I was in full flower bitch mode.

Nevertheless, that day, he kept our date to head over to our favorite Saturday afternoon pub when we had finished another section in the garage.  We usually enjoy this time together so much.  Not that day.  After all, I could say or do anything, and Sam would ignore it.  I do not remember what conversation preceded it, but the most hurtful, horrible words came out of my mouth.  As I said up front in this post, I think I have put off writing this because I was so ashamed for you to know I was so mean.

                                      This is what I said -

"Sam, I am coming to the conclusion that you are not cut out to be the boss, and you never will."  The look on his face was immediate.  He was stunned and hurt.  I immediately apologized and tried to retract my words, but there are some things you cannot "unsay."

We left soon after, and it was awkward between us.  I said I was sorry again and again, but Sam was quiet.  When we got home, I was scared.  I wasn't scared Sam would spank; I was scared he wouldn't.  I felt we were suddenly a million miles apart and that there was no way back.  Why did everything feel wrong between us?  What had I done?  How could I have hurt him like that?
  

I retreated, tearful and ashamed.  There were several minutes of intense self examination.  I agonized and suddenly I could look at the situation with a clear head.  All Sam had really been guilty of was being patient with me.  So glad that I was better and ready to jump into life again.  Loving me.  And I had been so horrible to him.  I attacked the very thing that has made our marriage so much better.  So much happier.  I had crushed it like a bug on the floor.


Then Sam opened the door and took my hand.  He was not angry but serious and determined.  "We will not end this like you think, Ella."  Before there was any spanking, I was sobbing heavily and apologizing profusely.  He paid no mind and unzipped my jeans.  Down I went across the bed.

I could hear him taking off his belt, but I could not stop crying.  Besides, there was nothing I could say.  Sam had enough to say for both of us.  He wasn't giving up on me or on ttwd.


In truth, I don't remember that much about the spanking except that it went on for a good while and it hurt.  It wasn't the belt that made me cry though; it was my guilt and my fear that Sam wouldn't be able to forgive me.

"I'm still here, Ella, and I'm not planning on that changing.  I'm here for you when you are sick, and you are here for me when I need you.  This is a bump, but we will get back to who we are to each other."


Sam used his belt, but through it all, I thankfully felt him take charge again, and I felt his love.  When it was over, I knew the rightful boss was back at the helm.  He held me tenderly until the tears finally stopped.  I was still trying to say how sorry I was, but he told me, "No more."  It was over now, and I was forgiven.  

                                TTWD wasn't going anywhere. 

 

 

"It's Your Job"

                                   Let's start at the beginning.  
          You need to understand something before this story is told.

                                            "I Hate Winter."


I say it several times a day.  As far as I am concerned, there should only be 3½ seasons in a year.  Early Spring - Lots of Summer - Extended Fall - and a very abbreviated Christmas Season.  As soon as the Christmas tree comes down, Spring should start poking up in the garden the very next day.
 

Sam had a gas fireplace insert with a blower installed in our living room - with a remote control.  He figured that would fix the problem.  I could keep one room in the house as warm as I wanted.  He could retreat to the study when he couldn't stand the heat any longer.

 

 Must confess to have once melted the rubber soles of my slippers  while trying to warm up my feet by the fireplace.  Sam came running in because he smelled something burning.  

                             "Not to worry, honey!  I'm just fine."
  
Then there's the electric mattress pad on the bed.  Dual controls so there are no fights.  Sam has never turned on his side.  Mine is set for "High" about an hour before bedtime, although I turn it down when I am done with my Kindle and ready to sleep.


Coldest of all are my hands and feet.  Ten little icy fingers and ten little icy toes.  One of the best ways to warm them up again is on Sam.  He is not fond of this at all, but I tell him,

                     "It's your job.  It's your job to keep me warm."

So......that is where this winter story really begins.  Sam was home from work, and happy hour had just began.  We were talking about company coming and a busy weekend.  Sam suggested I meet him for lunch the next day at a place that has my favorite soup on the menu in the colder months.  Mmm.., that sounded like a wonderful idea.

Like most nights I soon arranged myself on Sam's lap for a more extensive welcome home.  He was nice and warm, and I wasn't.  When my cold fingers touched his face and neck, he didn't cringe, but there was a minor complaint.
  
"Geez, Ells." 


But I distracted him by turning to straddle his lap.  As soon as he relaxed again, I slipped my hands up his shirt ready to soak up his warmth.  Sam's survival reflex kicked in, and he grabbed my wrists to pull my hands back out.  

"Nope.  No way.  Your hands are like ice!"

I was not about to give up.

"It's your job.  It's your job to keep me warm."

"Who says?" he grumbled.

"Me.  I'm cold and you're warm.  It's your job.  So quit your bitchin'," I laughed and moved my fingers back under his shirt.  After a short wrestling match, he collapsed his knee in an effort to dump me on the floor, but I held on.  We were both laughing by now.  

"So, it's my job to keep you warm, huh?  he grinned.

"Yep, it is, so don't be a wuss about it, mister," I teased.

"Oh, I'll get you warm, if that's what you want."

As he pushed me off his lap, he caught me around my waist and hauled me up and over the kitchen counter.  

"Ha!  Let me help you with these jeans."  He popped open the button of my pants and then deftly reached over me to the crock for a wooden spoon.

"Warm?  You want warm?  I'll show you warm," he laughed and the spoon went to work.

"Ow!  Stop, Sam.  It's my hands that are cold.  Not my butt."

"Well, you just tell me when the warmth spreads to your fingers.  Then I'll know I've done my job."

I absolutely love spankings like this!  Laughing so hard and yelling, too.  Sam was laughing, as well, with one hand on my back to keep me still and the other hand whaling away on my ass with that damn spoon.

"Are you warm yet," he asked.

"Sa-a-am!  Ouch!"
 
"Just doing my job, ma'am."

Whack! Whack! Whack!

"How 'bout now?  Are those fingers warm yet?"

I was squealing and wiggling and laughing.

"Yes!  Yessir, I'm warmed up.   Ow!  Please!  I'm warm.  Honest, Sam."

"Let me check, Ells.  Be still," and Sam ran his hand gently over my very warm ass.  That felt lovely.  Then he pulled me up and took my hands.

"I do believe your fingers are warmer," he smiled and took me in his arms.

"You are right.  It is my job.  And my work is done here."

 

I really couldn't argue with that.  My hands were warmer, and Sam didn't seem to mind at all when they started to roam below his belt.