Obviously, I got ripped a new one.

One of these days, I'm going to learn to shut my mouth before it gets slapped off, and my ass granted the power to roast marshmallows.

~sigh~ ...I don't know that I'm to getting into the details without getting sucked back into something negative...but from around 3:00 p.m.-10:00 p.m., I cussed, fussed, complained, threatened and challenged. I said I was leaving. I wouldn't wait to be left...so I'd be the first to run. I said he had no right, no choice, no options.

And he made it clear that I was very, very wrong.

When I'm nervous or uncomfortable with something, I chew my nails and my hair. I accomplished enough nail chewing that he tied my wrists to my sides, with the rope threaded through the belt loops of my jeans. He doesn't say much when he is angry, and he didn't have much to say last night. Whether I would have admitted it or not, I knew the extent of his madness...and fought pathetically to avoid the eyes burning through me.

After a few minutes in this position, he released the rope from my jeans and moved my hands in front of me, tummy down on the bed. Bound at the wrists, my arms were pulled forward, and the rope angled beneath the mattress to prevent movement.

My jeans were lowered to just above my knees, my panties to mid-thigh. I'd felt hardened to him for the last 3 days, and I knew, unfortunately, that it would take alot to pull me out of the dark void I'd sunk into.

Yet, this time was different. The simple positioning of bound wrists and lowered jeans/panties was calming. I immediately began to feel my barriers weakening. I suspect I had hoped all along that it would come to this, that I wouldn't have a choice. I didn't want the choice. I certainly didn't need to be given a choice.

Bear positioned himself to my right side, and lined up a series of wooden implements, within my sight. It was comforting to know what was coming, and when...but the sight of those paddles sent my tummy into cartwheels. First came the coat brush. Not so bad, I can take this.

Quothe the Queen of Denial.

I soon discovered just how hard he was going to swing these implements of ass destruction. Within ten swats of the coat brush, tears were trickling down my cheeks, and I was bucking about the bed like a colt being broken in by a tough trainer.

I could see the swing of his arm, arcing high into the air, putting all his strength into every blow.

"I've only just begun, young lady."

Next came the Cracker Barrel paddle, then slimflex, and then the bamboo cutting board. Each time, I convinced myself that it wouldn't be so bad...and each time, I ended up squealing and squirming and begging for forgiveness.

By the time the big gun...er...big paddle was brought out, I pretty much laid there and bawled like a 3 year old....on through the bathbrush and belt. All I could do was cry and beg and say I was sorry again and again.

I was still fighting off a bad attitude, though relieved greatly, for the rest of the evening, and still am today. I'm not going to do anything stupid, and I'm trying to be respectful again...but even so, it feels like something is missing, and I don't know how to get it back.