A lot of you know that I’m one of those who treat Domestic Discipline as some sort of “cause”, and my husband and I, therefore, try to live as examples for other couples who might at some point consider using DD as a part of their relationship. Not that we’ve told any of our real life couple friends yet, but someday we might, and we would like to have some concrete examples of how it has helped us, both individually and as a couple.
We both believe that DD can help women accomplish goals that they have trouble accomplishing themselves. Achieving a goal weight is a prime example of this, since weight loss is a goal shared by so many women. It is also often a difficult and stressful goal to achieve, and one where we think domestic discipline can really play a useful role. Remember that we are talking here about goals that women have set for themselves. There are some rules that James makes, and enforces, whether I like it or not. The no swearing rule was one example, since I strongly disagreed with it when James and I first met, although I’m glad for it now. However, for a couple who is new to DD, a possible starting point might be the husband helping the wife to achieve some of her own, personal goals. It is a less daunting starting point for two reasons. First, from the wife’s perspective, she isn’t going to feel bullied or pushed around, because she is setting the goals herself. Second, from the husband’s perspective, he doesn’t have to feel any guilt or worry about spanking his wife when she isn’t making choices that will help her reach her goals, because she set the goals herself, and she asked for his help. This makes it easier for him to ignore pouting, whining, arguing, or in my case, the patented “Aren’t you being unreasonable?” look.
Now, back to the original point. When I have the body of a fine-tuned athlete with skinny legs (“Mick-Jagger legs” as I used to call them) and rock-hard abs as I did in high school, I still weigh 130 lbs. But right now I weigh 150. Since I got up to 180 in college, I think 150 is astounding, and a weight I have not seen in many moons. And for the most part, I think I already look quite good, and James agrees. I’m not overweight, but as most of you women out there know—it’s not about looking “normal”. It’s about looking like a scorching hottie. We can accept nothing less from ourselves. Losing about 15 pounds is a goal I have set for myself. I spent the first year and a half since James and I met trying to achieve it on my own, with very limited success, so right after we got married I asked James to help. Losing weight over the honeymoon and over the Christmas holidays just wasn’t going to happen, and James didn’t even try to make or enforce any weight related rules. After the New Year, James asked me if I still wanted his help. He told me he thinks I’m very beautiful at my current weight, and so he was fine with whatever decision I made. He asked me to think about it, and make sure I wanted his help, since if he did help, he was making a promise to me that he would make sure I succeeded. I thought about it, and decided that I did want his help.
In addition to looking my best, I figure that if I can reach 130 again, and people ask how it’s done, I’ll just tell them, “My husband made me keep to it. Because he spanks me.” (Not EXACTLY that sentence. I’m working on it.)
However, setting the goal is much easier than achieving the goal. And for James, offering to help is much easier than actually following through and making sure I eat right and exercise. And James has witnessed that although it seems I mind my eating habits and workout habits carefully, I still can’t lose weight. He maintains that I haven’t been able to work out and eat right consistently. He claims I do it for a week at a time, and then stop, and then start again later. And so, we’ve taken to the food journal. The food journal, in theory, removes any ambiguity from the process, since I can record exactly what I ate and when, and also whether or not I exercised, for how long, etc. I agreed to try “James’ way”, which I am skeptical of, because it is basically just what I’ve been trying for months now, except with James monitoring the process. If it works out, then James saying “I told you so” is a small price to pay for being skinny. If it doesn’t, James will be able to attest to the fact that all the usual “diet and exercise” ideas aren’t working, and I can go to a nutritionist and expect magic out of him. It helps if you have written down beforehand how much you’re working out, how much you drink, how much you eat, and what time you DO all of that. At the end of the day, I expect that nutritionist to pass me over a magic pill that will cure me of pudge.
Food journals, however, are NOT easy. I have trouble remembering to take a pill every day, let ALONE remember to write it down every time I pull a Trisket out of the pantry. But for my goals, it must be done.
I’ve really been sucking it up on this task. In general, remembering to do things I don’t really want to do is very difficult for me. This doesn’t just apply to the food journal, it has come up many other times as well. In fact, you’ll see another example in an upcoming post. I’ve never gotten so many spankings for one thing. My husband reminded me after my latest spanking the other day, “You have to start remember to do the things you promise to do. You’ve gotten more spankings over this issue than everything else put together.” And it’s true.
Many of you, like me, remember the spanking I got in the beginning of this March. You can look back into the archives if you don’t know what I’m talking about (or just click HERE). That spanking was truly awful. The spanking I received this last Saturday, however, was pretty odd for a repeat spanking due to the fact that it could have been much worse, and I couldn’t have argued about that.
My parents had come to town for about ten days, and after the 3rd day I lost my food journal (and I didn’t look very hard for it, to be honest), then even when I found it a couple of days later I didn’t add anything to it. After the last spanking, you’ll recall, I set up Microsoft Outlook so that every evening at 8:30 I get a reminder about my food journal. I got these messages, but then proceeded to ignore them. So, when I was filling in the pages with the best of my memory after my folks’ departure, I fessed up to what I was doing. I didn’t want to be accused of lying (which I really never want to be accused of, since James informs me that the spanking would be of historical proportions). James was in the middle of making a pizza, but he became very thoughtful.
After the pizza was made, however, he sent me, with my food journal, into the bedroom. (The bedroom has informally become the “punishment room”. I don’t think this is for any reason except that I feel uncomfortable being spanked in wide open spaces like the living room, and we’re creatures of habit). I mildly protested, but not for too long. He looked serious, but not angry. Just disappointed.
Without much further ado, I did as I was told. James was right behind me, and began the lecture as soon as he rounded the doorframe. “I know it’s not easy,” he began. “And I know that your parents are distracting, and I’m really grateful for all the work you guys did on the house. But you really have to remember the food journal. It’s just one thing. And you HAVE to do it right after you eat—every time. I blame myself this time; I need to remind you.” You see, James has asked me on several occasions to make a daily checklist, so I don’t forget things, but he’s never MADE me do it. The Outlook reminder was my alternative to the checklist, which James approved grudgingly. After that previous spanking, James was planning to remind me himself, after each meal, to fill out the food journal, but he failed miserably at this.
“I need to be stricter and more consistent and check your journal more often so every time you forget it doesn’t end up being a big spanking because you’ve forgotten for a week or more.” But he says this while he’s going into the closet for his belt. So I’m nervous already. “Bend over the bed.” He ordered, after which he peeled off my pants and panties and had me step out of them. He positioned me once on the corner of the bed, so that my legs would be apart, but when he asked, I admitted that my leg was feeling a little awkwardly placed, and so he put me back so I was bending over the long side of the bed with my legs on the ground (but still apart).
“I started writing again here,” I admitted, pointing at the book page.
“How many days?”
“Seven.” I said, glancing at it.
“Seven days times three meals a day, then. So that’s 21 strokes.” He figured. “It’s not going to be as bad as spankings I’ve given you before, because I haven’t been doing my job, but it’s going to get my point across.”
Then the first stroke fell. SMACK! Mind you; the belt sounds just as scary as it feels. But for some reason, you hear the sound before you feel the pain. I don’t understand the science of this.
But overall, James is becoming better at wielding the belt without bruising me. He has better control now, and he doesn’t hit with it as hard as he used to. Yet as soon as the belt hit the thighs…
Shudder. The belt, when connecting to the thighs, leaves an instant welt. There’s no “standing in place” to receive it. You FEEL it, and you RESPOND. Poor James always has to put an arm around my waist just to keep me in place. I certainly can’t do it on my own. And it’s harder in this position for James to keep me from putting my hands back there. Not to mention how easy it is just to stand up.
But it ended, and none-too-soon. The side of my ass was annoying me by hurting more than anywhere else. You can really tell, when being belted, how much the chub on your butt is protecting you from bruising, and as soon as there’s no fat somewhere… bruise, bruise, bruise! Luckily, everything’s gone now, and not many even lasted to the next day.
At the end of the spanking, as usual, James held me and comforted me. I wasn’t crying this time—just a bit rattled. I felt worse for James—he repeated his earlier lecture and told me that he wanted me to write out a “daily check list” and apologized consistently for “letting me down” and “not doing his job”. It’s wonderful to know that James takes my goals so seriously.
Afterwards, I made out a simple checklist and attached it to the fridge—just a “did you write down breakfast/lunch/dinner/night yogurt/other/exercise?” for the days of the week. I attached it to the fridge since I tend to open it by habit upon entering the kitchen—even if I want something that’s not a fridge-item. Like a pair of scissors. Hopefully I can keep with it. If not—you’ll be seeing a lot of spankings from here on out!